


lonesome hill

by brujsedbones



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Best Friends, Character Study, Flashbacks, M/M, Mark Lee (NCT)-centric, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Quarter Quell, Violence, mentions of other Idols
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-04-13
Packaged: 2019-10-20 01:03:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17612489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brujsedbones/pseuds/brujsedbones
Summary: Mark does not volunteer for the 100th Hunger Games. He’s not strong like Taeyong or beautiful like their mother. Mark is just Mark and nothing else.That’s going to have to be enough.





	1. Chapter 1

Mark did not volunteer.

His parents had long accepted that he was going to be the family disappointment. That was long before he was eligible for the Games. Mark was the less attractive son; the gangly, awkward one who laughs too loudly at inappropriate times. He considers himself, at the very least, to be considerably smarter than his older brother; but in the grand scheme things, that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters when your brother is Lee Taeyong, victor of the 98th Hunger Games and the Capitol’s sweetheart.

The 99th annual Games had been a massive failure; the arena was entirely underwater and all but five tributes died in the initial “bloodbath.” It wasn’t a bloodbath, those nineteen children drowned to death, all in a matter of minutes. Three of the remaining tributes teamed up against the other two, the pair from Four. Of course the tributes from Four, the fishing district, were able to survive in water. It came down to them in the end, after the tributes from One, Nine and Ten were unceremoniously swallowed by a sea serpent.

Jennie Kim was crowned the winner of the 99th Hunger Games after Song Minho impaled himself with his own spear to spare her life. From the initiating gong to the cannon for Minho’s death, the Games lasted six hours. All of the creative staff and Yang Hyunsuk, the Head Gamemaker, paid for their exquisite execution of his poor ideas with their lives.

Jennie is a recluse now. She might as well be dead.

No one cares about Jennie. The Capitol only cares about the dangerously pretty victor from the year prior, and Taeyong is pretty much regarded as the reigning victor.

The 98th Games were a hit in the Capitol, before, during, and after. It seemed to be mostly about Taeyong. As a rather attractive tribute from the more privileged District Two, this was to be expected, but Mark's sixteen year old self was proud of how well his brother had wrangled the unexpected publicity.

In the week before the Games, the training period, Taeyong was caught with his hand down the pants of a Capitol housekeeper, Kim Doyoung. The story blew up, and contrary to the fears of his parents, the Capitol ate it up. _Forbidden love_ , the headlines called it, _Lee Taeyong's passion and beauty and unwillingness to deny himself his desires_.

Mark still thinks it was a sloppy handjob. No romanticization needed.

The arena was a desert. Sand and parched earth stretched for miles in any direction. There was a Cornucopia filled with weapons, and since this cast had been particularly liked, they were each awarded with a bag containing a water bottle, already full, and a sleeping bag.

At first, the Games were a little ridiculous. Each tribute spread out on the flat ground, mere yards apart, sipping their water and trying not to dehydrate in the dry, hot weather. Every now and then, a particularly bloodthirsty tribute from Ten, Choi Seungcheol, would challenge another person to a duel. Seungcheol always won.

After three days of this, and 6 lives under Seungcheol's belt, Taeyong receives a note from a sponsor, telling him to run to a cliff soon, and the numbers 0802.

A day later, when the fire starts, Taeyong runs.

It licks at his heels the entire way, but he gets to the cliff and jumps. The Capitol holds its breath.

Taeyong doesn't die. He falls on a jutted out platform but the impact stole the breath from his lungs. He murmurs those numbers — Mark's birthday — while he believes he is dying. A door reveals himself, and struck by sheer disbelief, Taeyong crawls through. The games become much more interesting.

There was an underground network of tunnels behind that door. There was water, and air conditioning, and Capitol food; like he'd won the Games already. Taeyong finally begins his killing, but from underground, shoving his sword through the thin layer of soil and someone's throat, or stomach, or eye. People are dropping like flies and the tributes are in constant panic because they don't know who's next.

The Capitol loves it. The Capitol loves _him_.

Once all of the average tributes are dead, Choi Seungcheol finds his way into the tunnels from a different entrance. Taeyong wastes no time cracking his opponent's skull against the concrete walls of his own personal paradise. The cannon sounds.

Taeyong wins.

Taeyong and Doyoung's reunion is televised and teary-eyed. The Capitol, the districts; everyone finds it precious. Mark supposes it is.

Taeyong stays in the Capitol for months, spending equal parts of his time falling in love and being the pretty apple of the Capitol's expensive eye. When he returns back to Two for the Victor's Tour, the applause is uproarious. Taeyong glows, pretty face unmarred even after those ten days of grit and violence, but this glow was different than usual. This glow was from victory and success. It was from pure, unadulterated love and admiration.

Taeyong is in love; he is beautiful and lethal, and above all, he is successful.

And Mark is, well, Mark.

His family had long accepted he would be the family disappointment, but seeing him hunched over and on the verge of tears standing in front of unarguably the most formidable district just solidified that image of him.

It didn’t help that he was chosen alongside Yeri, his best friend from childhood. She was standing with her chin held high and her face blank, yet beautiful. She was the very image of what people expected from District Two. That being said, she did not have any additional pressure on her shoulders.

Every twenty five years, the Capitol has a Quarter Quell. It is a version of the Hunger Games with a new sick twist that comes into effect at the reaping. These twists are meant to make the Games more personal,  with more bloodshed, and in turn, more memorable.

In fact, the way President Lee Sooman introduced the Quell Twist was, “As a reminder to the Districts that even our strongest cannot protect you all, the tributes for the one hundredth Hunger Games will be reaped from a pool of relatives from past tributes.”

 _Tributes._ Meaning that if someone in your family has competed in the Games, you are eligible for reaping.

With the way Mark’s life usually goes, it’s no wonder he is the only tribute of twenty four that is reaped from a victor. The most beloved in Panem history, at that. He’s doomed from the start.

Mark is assigned a visitation room that he knows no one will visit him in. He can hear the doors to Yeri’s room opening and closing, can hear the tear stricken voices wafting through the thin walls. Mark envies her a bit. Yeri arranged her life in a way that she could be both Mark’s most loyal and thoughtful companion in addition to their high school’s golden girl. Once one person leaves, the next person comes in, and this continues for forty five minutes. In the back of his head, Mark knows that the only person who would have come to see him off is waiting in the Capitol, biting down on his fingernails in worry.

The Justice Building is musty and the smell only reinforces Mark’s dislike of the building. He passes this building every day on his way to school, and the district representative is always out in the front, smoking cigarettes and flicking the butts into the pretty grass. It’s gross and it irritates Mark, though far less than what actually goes on inside this building.

The slip of paper that sealed his fate is produced inside the building. It’s where his father works.

Mark’s father is a true District Two man. He pities the fact that he has never been chosen for a Games, so he married a woman who was a child of a victor. He also went and got a job in the building where all the magic happens. One day, he comes home and tells his family that he got to write Mark’s name down, and he looks as happy as Mark has ever seen him. His excitement is jarring; most parents wouldn’t be eager to send their child to death. Mark is so used to this behavior that it just rolls off his back without doing much damage.

Mark’s mother is a little more cautious about it. She still participates in her husband’s Hunger Games festivities, but she doesn’t ever pressure Mark into joining. She knows he hates everything the Games stand for, and cuts in whenever her husband gets a little aggressive about Mark’s lack of participation. Mark’s pretty grateful for his mother.

That being said, he’d much rather attend his father’s neighborhood 'Bloodbath Barbeque' instead of being inside the arena. That’s not an option anymore.

Mark heaves a sigh, looking out of the window in his room. From his position, he can see the main entrance of the hospital, and the air around it is still and unmoving. He sighs again, thinking about everything he’s leaving behind.

He’s always wanted to be a nurse. He genuinely likes to help people, but he doubts that he could perform under the pressure of the looming threat of death, so he feels that the job is suitable for him. He has an internship at the hospital, where he receives his medical education on top of his regular school work.

Mark bows his head and wills himself not to cry.

Reaping Days are always emotional; families are torn apart for the entertainment of rich merchants in the Capitol, who watch children die over racks of lamb and red wine. In poor districts, there's also added guilt, because once one child goes, that's one less mouth to feed, and thinking of a child, _their_ child's death as anything positive rips people to shreds. Mark is privileged enough to live in Two, so he never sees anything like this with his own eyes, but he hears stories on the news. He reads the articles about families that literally die from guilt and sorrow, and thinks the other side of the reaping is almost as soul shattering as the one everyone acknowledges.

Mark can make that comparison because he's experienced both.

He distinctly remembers the day Taeyong leaves. Taeyong was strong for the public, and for the majority of his many, many adoring visitors, but cried in the arms of his little brother, letting his fear overtake them both. They've always been close, and this fact manifests itself in the way Taeyong's arms tremble around Mark's neck. It's Mark that has to detach Taeyong from himself, who has to be the sensible one and tell Taeyong that he has to go. Taeyong's sobs echoed in Mark's ears as he quietly left the Justice Building, and then Mark went home and responded with sobs of his own.

Reaping Days hurt—they are supposed to.

Days after Taeyong wins, Mark jokes with his mother, saying that if he ever gets reaped, to not come see him during his visitation hour. His mother, ever forgetful and rebellious, chooses this one sentence to remember and obey. His father, who didn't visit Taeyong, doesn't visit Mark either, claiming that 'visits are for pussies.' Mark doubts his father would want to see him like this.

The allotted hour is almost over when there's a knock on Mark's door. Shocked, he jolts up from his half asleep state just in time to see Joy and Seulgi, Yeri's girlfriend and best friend respectively, slip past his door.

They give him hugs first, express their sorry feelings about his fate. They are warm and comforting, and Mark is slightly less tense once they let him go.

"I didn't think I would have any visitors," Mark says, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles absentmindedly. It's something he does when he gets nervous, but he hasn't spent enough time around anyone but Yeri for them to pick up on it.

"Yeri said this room has been awfully quiet," Seulgi responds with a sad smile. "I think everyone deserves a warm goodbye."

"Ah, a pity goodbye?" Mark asks, smiling wistfully. It's what he expects.

"No, Mark. We came to offer words of encouragement," Joy reprimands gently.

She continues talking after Mark’s features arrange themselves into an expression of confusion. “We all know how you are, Mark. You like to protect and save everyone. And being reaped with someone like Yeri…”

“You guys are close,” Seulgi picks up from where Joy left off, but cannot seem to complete the thought herself. They are beating around the bush, Mark realizes.

“Are you two asking me to try to save her?” He asks, equal parts bewildered and confused. Bewildered because asking someone to sacrifice their life for their loved one is more than a little ridiculous, and confused because the idea of Mark being able to protect someone from anything is just about the funniest thing he’s ever heard.

Joy shakes her head feverishly. “No! No, oh my god. We could never ask that of you.”

“Then what are you asking?” Mark questions, leaning back on his hands that rest against the windowsill.

“We can’t ask you to protect her, or to even watch over her. But all we ask is that you’re not the one to kill her.”

Mark flinches at Seulgi’s request, the implication of it hitting him like a train. “What—You think I’d do that?”

“The Mark Lee standing in front of me would never dare,” Seulgi says. “But you don’t know what it’s like out there, what that kind of pressure can drive you to do.”

“Think about Boa. She was so sweet and bright before she was reaped, but she had the most kills in her Games and she was ruined when she came back,” Joy provides, and now their concerns make sense.

Kwon Boa won the eighty eighth Hunger Games at the ripe age of fourteen, the youngest ever. She was the brightest, most angelic girl while living her life in Two. She arrived in the Capitol and got a high score on her individual evaluation, and then the pressure comes. Everyone was so sure that she is going to win, making banners for her and cheering her name wherever they saw her in the rare moments when tributes are allowed to go outside, and anyone with functioning eyes could see the toll it was taking on her.

They are right though, she does win, a whopping fifteen kills under her belt, and all of them were on the offensive. She becomes a Capitol legend, but all of the smaller districts hate her because of her willingness to play. After getting booed everywhere but the Capitol and Career districts on the Victory Tour, Boa retired to the Victor’s Village and is a frequent abuser of alcohol and hallucinogens. Mark thinks really hard, but he doesn’t think he’s seen her sober after that tour.

“I won’t kill Yeri,” Mark promises, shudder passing through his spine.

“Good.”

A knock on the door rips their conversation apart. “Time’s up! Dismiss your visitor and come out to the train platform.”

Seulgi and Joy give him hugs once again before making their way out. Mark takes a deep breath and wishes the musty room goodbye.

Yeri makes her way out of the room at the same time, and they nonverbally decide to walk together, next to each other. To anyone else, it may seem like a strategy, present a united front and all of that jazz, but Mark thinks his best friend’s proximity is the only thing stopping him from making a run for it.

They follow the Peacekeeper to the platform, and suddenly there are cameras flashing everywhere. Yeri’s footsteps stutter unsurely, and Mark pities her. So when her hand timidly searches for his, he lets her take it, giving it her hand a reassuring squeeze.

They are from District Two. Mark knows they will be hot topics among Capitol people. He knows there will be some kind of headline about the tributes from Two holding hands, but in that moment, it doesn't matter. He wants to make Yeri feel better.

Yeri is back to her usual self in no time, coaxing laughs out of Mark as they reach the metal doors of the train. He’s cracking up as they step past them, his situation momentarily forgotten because the sensation of laughing with Yeri feels too familiar.

The peacekeeper that was leading them stops in front of another set of metal doors. “This is where I leave you. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

He offers them each a handshake along with his genuine words and takes his leave. Mark thinks he’s oddly kind for a peacekeeper.

Even after the peacekeeper leaves, Mark and Yeri stand in front of the door, just looking at it. “Our escort and mentor are in there,” Yeri comments.

“Are you ready?” Mark asks. Yeri nods, and they step through the doors together. Mark is horrified to find a familiar face.

Irene is a sweet woman that was once Mark’s elementary school teacher at the Academy. She now works as a District Two escort, shoveling children back and forth to their deaths. She knows what her job is, and she barely stops herself from bursting into a fit of tears when she sees Mark and Yeri, all grown up and not sticky little five year olds, on their way to death.

She hugs them, and they are both shocked. There is a kind of familiarity and warmth in hugs that is not typical among tributes and their escorts. Mark’s heart aches, saturated with memories. He welcomes her embrace just as he had the ones from Sooyoung and Seulgi.

“What am I to do?” Irene cries as she steps back to look at them. "My little babies, all grown up now.”

Yeri’s responding laugh is soft, like her. “It’s okay, Ms. Bae. You can still think of us as small children if you want. I’m sure Mark wouldn’t mind either,” she says, nudging him with her elbow.

Yeri’s calmness still confuses Mark. He’s always been the more cool headed one, the better equipped to handle stressful situations. The role reversal is difficult for him to wrap his head around.

“Where’s our mentor?” Yeri asked, slightly peering over Irene’s shoulder, as if the mentor would be hiding there.

“He is in the Capitol. He anxiously awaits your arrival,” Irene says, eyes flickering between them quickly.

Yeri smacks her teeth. “Ugh, it’s a guy? I wanted Yuri!”

Mark slaps her arm gently. “Don’t be an ass, Yeri. You’ll only know the mentor for about a week anyway.”

The way he phrases it is offensive and Mark knows it as soon as the sentence leaves his mouth. It implies that Yeri won’t be coming back, reminds her that she’s going to die. She rolls her eyes, turning her back on Mark and asking Irene where she’s meant to sleep.

Mark means to apologize, but Yeri is swishing out of the room in her red dress before he can open his mouth. He knows everything is okay when she comes knocking on his room not even an hour later, poking her head in his room to ask, “Do you want to watch the reapings with me?”

No apology needed. They’re like siblings, arguing with no clear resolution, just reconciliation after a period of silence.

When they arrive in the common area, Irene is there too, with cookies and blankets. “I figured you would want something to eat before supper.”

Both Mark and Yeri thank her before they sit down next to each other. Irene turns the TV on, searching for the recording. Suddenly Leeteuk, the national announcer, is on the screen and _oh._ Mark didn’t know this was going to be a commentary.

Mark doesn’t particularly like Leeteuk. It was him who sold the information about Taeyong to the news stations, and even though they’ve never met, Mark will probably never forgive him for that.

Everyone watches in silence as two girls, Sana and Momo, are called from One, both of them crying. They forego standing on their separate pads, both coming together to stand on Sana’s while the national anthem plays once more before the ceremony closes.

Mark and Yeri are next, and the square in Two is surrounded by whoops and hollers, crackling with excitement. No one really notices Mark’s hunched over frame and Mark watches as himself from hours prior tries to coerce himself into smiling. It’s awkward, and so visibly ingenuine that he can’t help laughing at himself.

“That Mark Lee,” Leeteuk says, and the smile slides off of Mark’s face. “You’d think he would be stronger, with his brother, and that District Two victor's lineage. What a shame.”

The room is very quiet, and Mark doesn’t say anything. Leeteuk isn’t worth it.

The recording continues on, and the tributes from Three are called, but neither of them really catch his attention. There’s a seedy looking girl named Lisa from Four, but none of these tributes are particularly interesting. Or threatening for that matter.

A girl named Lee Jieun is called from District Seven, then Kim Doyoung is called right after and Mark’s blood runs cold in his veins. He thinks that there is perhaps another with that name, but when the man steps up with his hardened face, it’s unmistakable.

That’s Doyoung. Taeyong’s Doyoung.

There isn’t one bit of this that makes sense to Mark. Doyoung is a Capitol man, living in the Capitol with Taeyong in the lap of luxury. Why he is in District Seven and being reaped is beyond Mark’s mental capacity.

He gets up and leaves the couch, walking through the train cars to get to his room. He scavenges through the sheets, finally locating his phone, and he is dialing Taeyong’s number with shaking fingers. He picks up on the first ring.

“Doyoung?” Mark is the first to speak.

“Hello, Mark. How nice of you to call your brother after such a long time.”

“Cut the bullshit, Taeyong. Why is he in Seven? I thought he was in the Capitol with you.”

“His uncle,” Taeyong starts, voice quiet. “He died, and it was his money keeping Doyoung afloat. He had to move back to Seven for a little while to try to get things situated.”

“Go on,” Mark urges after Taeyong falls silent for a little while.

“Well, when you live in a district for more than six months, you have to register for citizenship,” Taeyong says, and Mark can pretty much hear his teeth digging into his lip in anxiety.

“Wait a minute,” Mark begins, finally becoming aware of why Taeyong would be nervous. “When I called you last month, you said he was there with you.”

“Yes.”

“And he wasn’t.”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you come home?” Mark tries really hard not to sound like he’s wounded, but he knows he has failed when a soft sigh comes through the phone.

“I had to keep up the facade for him, Mark. He didn’t want anyone to know.” Taeyong’s voice sounds watered down and weary, and Mark decides to give him a break.

“I’m sorry this happened to you,” he decides to say, deeming it appropriate.

Taeyong scoffs at him. “I’m sorry this has happened to _you_ ,”  he counters.

Mark smiles despite himself. “I’ll find a way to visit you. I’ll sneak off the premises or something.”

“Mark—”

“I have to go, hyung. Yeri will kill me for running out on her if I don’t go back soon,” Mark cuts him off.

“Okay,” Taeyong says simply. “I’ll see you soon, Mark.”

“Bye, love you.” Mark says quickly, hanging up. The words felt odd in his mouth, but he doesn’t know if or when he will be able to see or talk to Taeyong before the Games start.

Mark arrives back in the living room in time to see a pair of tributes get whisked away, the crowd chanting ‘Avenge him!’ at an alarming volume. Mark can hardly hear the anthem as it plays, the distressed shouting drowning out the blaring of the recorded brass instruments.

“Wow,” Mark says. “What district is that?”

“Ten,” Yeri says, eyeballing him head to toe. “I hope you told Taeyong oppa I said hello.”

“I...didn’t,” Mark responds. “It’s okay, you can just come with me when I go visit him.”

“Visit him?” Irene cuts in, confused.

“You’d cover for us, right Ms. Bae?” Mark asks, batting his eyelashes. “I’d really like to see him.”

Irene pinches her lips tight. “Of course, honey. Anything for you.”

The train arrives at the station then, the recording coming to an end as well. Irene stands them and makes sure they look clean, presentable for the public.

“Okay, children. The beginning of your Hunger Games experience begins now.”

Mark’s hand finds Yeri’s without looking down, and together they step out of the train to meet their mentor for the first time. Mark is hoping for Shindong, Taeyong’s mentor. He marketed him in the best way and made sure he kept the sponsors coming.

“Taeyong?”

Mark’s voice comes out choked with shock. The train station has twelve separate entrances, one for each district. Underneath the '2', his elder brother is standing there in a sleeveless white shirt with a flannel wrapped around his small waist. He has a mask on his face, but Mark would know those eyes anywhere. He appears to be in training clothes, likely in an attempt to blend in, but they are in the Capitol. Everything is about drama and glamour, attempting to be superior, so Taeyong stands out like a sore thumb.

“Hi, Mark,” Taeyong says shyly.

Yeri giggles. “Look at the bright side, Mark. At least now you won’t have to sneak out to see him.”

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> conflict already....rubs hands together

“Oppa, hi!” Yeri shouts, jumping into Taeyong’s arms. She’d always appreciated him, perhaps more than Mark did at times. He returns her affection, patting her on the head gently.

“What are you doing here?” Mark asks Taeyong. He whirls around to look at Irene, who is making a show out of avoiding his eyes. “What is he doing here?”

“I’m your mentor,” Taeyong says, looking nervous.

“But—” Mark starts, then cuts himself off. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.” 

“So did I,” Taeyong responds, wringing his hands. “It was by Lee Sooman’s orders.” He really looks terrified of Mark’s reaction. Seeing the fear in his brother’s eyes makes Mark feel like a horrible person and he loosens up a bit.

“It’s nice to see you,” Mark murmurs as he pulls Taeyong in for a hug. Clearly he wasn’t expecting it; it takes a few seconds for him to reciprocate, but Mark waits because he knows Taeyong eventually will. He can hear the increase of camera flashes, and forces himself not to grimace. 

Mark pulls back to look at his brother, and Taeyong’s handsome face has melted into a genuine smile. Mark almost feels bad for what he’s about to say next.

“It’s okay that you’re here. They just want to make you look good before I die.”

Much to Mark’s surprise, Taeyong remains grinning. “You know what? You’re probably right.”

Mark startles visibly. This is the first real, substantial conversation they have had since before Taeyong left for his Games, and Mark is taken aback at just how much those days have rotted his brother’s usual sweet optimism.

Taeyong pats him gently on the head. “I don’t want you to die though, so do as I say and I will help you as best as I can.”

The cameras in the Capitol are almost as severe as the ones in Two. The flashing is disarming, but Taeyong just takes each of their hands in his own. “Don’t shy away from the cameras,” he advises. “It’s annoying, but they want to see you. Make yourself available for their viewing pleasure.”

Yeri, always the good student, raises her chin and even begins to wave at some of the photographers. She’s doing a great job of charming them, and Mark hears them begin to coo at her.

He’d join in but his heart is not really in it. In the Capitol, nothing is worse than a lack of genuineness. It’s ironic, really; the place where people mutilate their bodies and faces beyond the point of recognition hates when people are not completely honest.

If Mark is feeling _honest,_ he feels like he deserves a day to sulk and feel bad for himself. His victor’s lineage has given him yet another thing he doesn’t want. 

Mark keeps his head down while they walk to the car, but he can feel his brother’s disappointed stare burning into his scalp. Once they get inside, Taeyong begins to scold him immediately.

“Did you hear anything that I said?” he asks, incredulous. He folds his arms over his chest. “Or do you just not care?”

“The latter,” Mark murmurs, mirroring Taeyong’s action but refusing to make eye contact. He stares out of the window instead.

“Are you really going to make me sell you as the brooding, disturbed bad boy?” Taeyong sighs.

Mark huffs a laugh at that, but then he really starts to think about it. With such a role, he can repress all emotion and no one will question it. If he does break from that character, everyone will be alarmed and rush to help him. It’s not such a bad plan even if Taeyong is opposed to it.

As an added plus, he won’t get wrapped up in any romantic scandals. Even with the amount of foolish, lovesick Capitol sponsors it will bring in, Mark refuses to put himself through that. He saw how it ruined friendships and turned even the most sociable, docile of people into aggravated homebodies and he doesn’t want that for himself. 

“Go ahead,” Mark answers Taeyong’s question, to which his brother just sighs. The rest of the car ride passes in tense silence that refuses to break despite Yeri’s many attempts.

Once they arrive at the Training Center, their measurements are taken to be sent to their stylists, who they will meet tomorrow. Taeyong tells them that they don’t have any schedules for the first day, and that official Hunger Games business starts the following morning. 

“There’s a party for the tributes to celebrate the honor of being reaped,” he adds on. “It’s optional, but I’m required to inform you.”

Yeri gives Mark a pleading look but he just turns away and heads to his room. There’s no way he goes to a party to celebrate the honor of being reaped because to him, there is no honor. He’s not some Capitol fool who thinks being chosen to die is some sort of valiant accolade, nor is he some bellicose Career who jumps at the chance to murder and sees it as fulfillment.

Mark probably should go and mingle, make the tributes want to kill him less than he knows they already do, but his limbs are too heavy. He can’t get out of bed, not when he’d rather stay there and mourn his own imminent death. 

Yeri comes back at 3am, sufficiently drunk, and tells Mark that he was the only tribute that wasn’t there. He just tucks her into bed and reminds her that they are due on the top floor of the Training Center at 9 AM.

 

+++

 

“My, my, my,” Kim Heechul says when he sees Mark in person for the first time. “Haven’t you grown up in two years. You’re so handsome.”

Mark had been in Taeyong’s clip packages from home, but back then he had been sixteen and baby faced. Yeri would argue that he still  _ is  _ baby faced, but Mark has now grown into his cheekbones and sharp jaw. He’s taller, more fit now, and has done a fairly good job of staying out of the public eye since Taeyong’s first Victor’s Tour, so he understands why his current appearance could come as a shock to Heechul.

None of this stops Mark from blushing at the stylist’s words. He bows his head so the redness in his cheeks isn’t as visible. “Thank you.”

“You’re blushing,” Heechul says, placing a hand on his hip, “don’t you have girls at home chasing you around and telling you this?”

Yeri snorts at that. “Not to his face. They’re too scared of him,” she comments, rolling her eyes. She leans in closer to Heechul, “you have no idea how many times girls have come to me asking if their _handsome_ _Mark oppa_ was dating anyone.”

Mark had known that people were afraid of him, but not the...other part. He whips his head over to Yeri, who stares at him in surprise.

“What?” she asks.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Mark asks, feeling a little betrayed. A girlfriend could have made him feel a lot less lonely at the Academy.

“Because they were all those ‘savage, callous’ type that you hate,” Yeri responds, using her fingers to make air quotes and indicate that she was using Mark’s exact words.

Mark’s face burns, not really wanting their mentor or stylists to know how the two of them speak in private. He decides to redirect the conversation.

“I could have changed,” he argues. 

“You’ve never liked a girl in your life, Mark,” Yeri deadpans. It’s a fairly innocuous statement, but there is hidden weight in it that Mark is only able to detect from being friends with her for years.  _ You’re gay, dumbass  _ it says, and Mark promptly clamps his lips together.

“I have liked  _ one  _ boy,” he shoots back, ignoring the way Taeyong’s eyebrows rise in curiosity. 

“I didn’t even mention boys,” Yeri laughs at him, poking him in the side. “I bet you still think about Jaemin,” she singsongs.

“ _ Yeri.” _

Heechul takes this time to intervene, a small smile on his lips. “While this little squabble is endearing and rather informative, we do have business to attend to.”

“Right. Sorry,” Mark says, bowing his head again. 

Heechul raises it back up. “You’ve got to unlearn all of this bashfulness. This is the Capitol, baby. That will not fly here.”

Once Mark nods, Heechul continues on, rubbing his hands together in excitement. “Okay, let’s get started.”

 

+++

 

Mark and Yeri take the elevator down the the ground floor by themselves. The stone doors are heavy and scrape loudly against the floor when they come in. Every head in the room snaps toward them, and Mark realizes, heart sinking, that they were the last pair of tributes to arrive. So much for not calling any more attention to themselves. He gives Yeri a pointed glare.

“I’m sorry!” she exclaims to him as quietly as possible as they walk over to the lone empty chariot, “It’s not my fault Wendy wanted to do a complete makeover last minute! What was I supposed to do? Say no?”

“Precisely,” Mark answers, but they both know he’s being sarcastic. He could never bring himself to be angry with Yeri, especially when doing something bold like that. Being from Two will already set them apart, but her freshly dyed, vibrant red hair will take her to different places entirely. 

The both of them stand out even more because of their attire. Yeri has on pleated shorts that show off her legs and a half shirt embroidered with little stones. It’s more a bra than anything, with the thin straps and accentuated cups, but she looks pretty in it. Her sharp cheekbones are accentuated by Wendy’s careful brush, lids covered with dark eyeshadow. Her hair has been swept into a loose bun, but Mark knows that won’t last long—he heard Taeyong tell her to let it down during the chariot ride. She is glowing despite their circumstances and Mark thinks that in a different universe, one where he was actually attracted to women, maybe he could have been in love with her. 

Where Yeri has a lot of skin showing, Mark is covered up almost entirely. The gray long sleeved top he is wearing has a structured, geometric front, and he would not have been able to get into it without Heechul’s help. The collar is high and asymmetrical, and the end of the sleeves fall past his hands. It’s beautifully designed and it matches well with Mark’s...pencil skirt.

“You work out right?” Heechul had said. “Every tribute that comes here tells me about the vigorous training done at the Academy.”

It was an embarrassing conversation to be having in front of Yeri and Taeyong, but Mark nodded anyway. “Yeah, I’m in shape.”

“Excellent!” Heechul announced, clapping his hands. He turned around and faced the silver rack of clothing. He pulled out a piece, and after a brief moment, Mark recognized what it is.

“That’s a skirt,” he said.

“I’m glad you have functioning eyes,” is what Heechul replied, thrusting his arm out, “now go put it on.”

Yeri was barely able to stifle her snort as Mark began to splutter. “What?”

“Step behind the screen and put the skirt on,” Heechul repeated, in slightly more words than before.

“But I’m a man,” Mark insisted, “why am I wearing a skirt?”

Heechul folded his arms, clearly not used to the pushback from a tribute. “Because I want you to live, Mark. This will make you stand out, so go put the damn skirt on.”

Mark took it, pouting, but took it nonetheless. He stepped behind the screen, disrobed, and ran into a problem almost immediately.

“Uh, Heechul?”

“What is it, Mark?” came the exasperated voice.

“I can’t fit my butt into the skirt,” Mark muttered, cheeks aflame.

“I can’t hear you.”

Yeri, closest to the edge of the screen, heard Mark clearly. “His ass is too big.”

Mark yanked the curtain back to glare at his best friend. “Yeri!”

She only laughed at him. “What? I was just clarifying.”

Mark heard what he assumed was Heechul clasping his hands together. “Oh, I forgot! Wendy and I decided to switch your outfit with Yeri’s last minute. The skirt is actually her measurements, not yours.”

“Your ass is  _ bigger _ than mine?” Yeri shrieked, and Mark kind of enjoyed the way her voice cracked. He stuck his tongue out at her.

“If this was Yeri’s skirt, then what was I supposed to wear?” Mark asked, genuinely curious.

Taeyong, who had been silent the majority of the visit, squeaked out a laugh when Heechul pulled out the shorts and cropped shirt. 

Wendy clapped her hands excitedly, taking the skirt from Mark immediately after. “You two are going to look fabulous!”

“Gorgeous,” said Heechul.

“Ravishing,” Taeyong tossed in, wearing a small smile. 

And here Mark is, in a brand new skirt with a skinny hemline that reaches his ankles and widened around the hips to accommodate for his ass.

They are both decked out entirely in gray, a barely there homage to their district, which specializes in masonry. Even with the dull color, the other tributes are starting to look at them, and Mark can almost feel the eyes on his back. 

There is a loud blowing of a horn and the door that leads to the main road opens wide. Mark’s breath catches in his throat.

Mark is from Two; while the east side of the district is more industrial, there are certainly plenty of nice buildings. It’s lovely, but the Capitol is something else entirely. The Capitol, with its tall skyline and creative architecture, has always been beautiful, but there’s something about it tonight that makes it look like some sort of fairytale. 

Mark knows it’s late, at least 9pm, and the sun should be down by now. It seems as if time has stopped where the sun finally began to melt into the horizon, painting the sky different hues of purple and dark orange. The stars seem to twinkle against the stunning backdrop, and people in the crowd seem to be mimicking the shine with the lights from their cell phones. Mark feels goosebumps rising on his skin just looking at it.

Or maybe it’s the sound of his name being called from all directions as soon as he becomes visible. 

He’s immediately startled by the volume. It’s ‘Mark!’ and ‘Yeri!’ from every direction, and it’s overwhelming. Mark’s not the most handsome tribute, nor was his reaping particularly special, so everyone calling his name must be fans of Taeyong who must anticipate him as well. It’s stressful, obviously—Mark’s not one hundred percent sure he’ll be able to deliver anything close to Taeyong’s level of play, but he’s grateful for the support he already has.

He forgets to be emotionless, his years of forced viewership of the Hunger Games and all of its proceedings starting to kick in. Everyone before him played to the crowd, so Mark does too. Someone throws a rose at him and Mark makes a big show of catching it in mid-air. The crowd screams and they get even louder when he blows a kiss in the general direction from which the rose came. Several hands reach out, trying to grab the kiss as if it were something tangible.

Yeri, not to be outdone, takes that moment to let her hair down. Mark startles at the amount of  _ women  _ that scream for her, and suddenly he doesn’t have to force himself to smile. He’s not happy about the fact that he’s being sent to his death, but there are people who are willing to keep him alive, and that makes this whole charade a little more bearable.

President Lee Sooman’s speech is just as rigidly executed as it is every single year, expressing his excitement over the pool of tributes and reminiscing over year’s past. He ends the speech with a cheery “may the odds be ever in your favor”, then the national anthem starts to play loud enough to vibrate everyone’s bones.

The District Two tributes are met by loud cheering by their stylists, mentor, and escort, so much so that the other tributes turn around to look at them. Irene plucks Mark’s crowd rose from his hand and tucks it behind his ear, giving him an eye smile and ruffling his hair gently.

Mark looks over to his brother, whose gaze is elsewhere in the room. Mark turns to look in the same direction, with Yeri and the rest of the team following the action. They all see the same thing at relatively the same time; a boy in a spotted suit glaring over at them. 

Not the group as a whole, just Mark. 

Yeri must notice this because her expression turns from curious to dark in a split second. She steps in front of Mark protectively, and his heart immediately swells for his best friend. He pats her shoulder to ease her stance and eventually she does, though not without a displeased scowl. Mark takes a step in the direction of the tribute—likely from Ten, the cattle district, due to the pattern on his outfit—but Taeyong grabs him by the collar of his sweater before he can go any further.

“What are you doing?” Taeyong asks, panicked and quiet.

“I was going to go ask him what his problem is,” Mark says. His eyes widen, “is that a bad idea?”

“You’re trying to make enemies before you even set foot in the arena,” Taeyong admonishes him. 

“With the way he was glaring at Mark, I’d say they are already enemies,” Wendy murmurs to Irene. She receives a glower from Taeyong that could melt steel, and she promptly shuts her mouth.

“We should get ready for bed. Training begins early tomorrow,” Taeyong says. He wraps a protective arm around Mark and Yeri’s shoulders and steers them back to the elevator. When they turn around to face the front, Spotted Suit is still staring at him. The other tribute from Ten, looking much younger and kinder, is turning his head away, pushing him in the direction of who seems to be their mentor. 

Mark, in a small fit of pettiness, narrows his eyes at Spotted Suit just as the elevator doors close, and feels a sense of accomplishment when the tribute seems to lose control, jumping in the direction of the elevator.

“Don’t approach that tribute from Ten,” Taeyong warns later when he visits Mark’s room before bed. “He doesn’t like us. I can feel it.”

“Us?” Mark echoes.

“He was glaring at me earlier, right before the parade happened. When you showed up, his face took on this new kind of hatred,” Taeyong frets. He clasps his hands together, “Avoid him. I don’t like him.”

Mark can’t help but feel like Taeyong is exaggerating a little bit, and he voices this. “It’s just another tribute, Taeyong. I’ll be fine. It’s not like he’s a Career.”

“No, he’s not,” Taeyong agrees, “but you are. And people already want to kill you for that.”

“Jesus, thanks for the pep talk,” Mark replies, rubbing his thumb over his knuckles absentmindedly.

“I’m serious, Mark. Promise me you won’t approach that kid from Ten,” Taeyong says. He looks completely serious, eyes wide and alert.

“Fine. I promise,” Mark says before trudging up to bed.

 

+++

 

Training begins the next day, and Mark does his best to keep his promise to Taeyong. He and Yeri walk in together, late yet again, but they can’t even have a normal start to the day because of one huge problem.

“They’re staring,” Mark whines. “Why are they staring? We’re not doing anything.”   
  
“It’s because you’re Careers,” comes a voice from behind them. “They’re afraid of you.”   
  
Mark and Yeri spin around to find the source of the words. They come face to face with the girl from Three, but Mark can’t quite remember her name.    
  
“Especially you,” the girl says, pointing her sword at Mark, who leaps back in surprise, “it’s the first time they’ve seen you outside of the chariot ride.”   
  
“Hi...” Mark says, dragging out the vowel sound to indicate that he doesn’t know her name.    
  
The girl smiles, a little pinched but still pretty. “Kim Doyeon. It’s nice to meet you, finally.”   
  
Mark bows to her slightly. “It’s nice to meet you too, Doyeon, but I’m not a Career.”   
  
Both Doyeon and Yeri give him a strange look. “Sure you are,” the former says, placing a hand on her hip, “You’re from Two.”   
  
Mark scratches the back of his head awkwardly, hyperaware of a few other tributes listening to their conversation. “I mean, sure, but Careers are made to fight. I’m just Mark.”   
  
“O...kay,” Doyeon relents, situation thoroughly awkward now. She turns to walk away, tossing a “happy training!” over her shoulder. Mark just nods at her retreating frame.   
  
“Mark, you know we’re technically Careers right?” Yeri asks as they begin to walk deeper into the training center.    
  
“We’re not like them. Stop saying that.”   
  
“We are a pair of good looking people from Two who are skilled in fighting,” Yeri reminds him, as if the media could ever let them forget, “Did you forget that we’re enrolled in the Academy?”   
  
The Academy of Combative Arts is the biggest chain of schools in Panem. There’s one in every district, but they are considerably larger and better staffed in One, Two and Four, a small reward for their loyalty to the Capitol during the Dark Days.    
  
There is very little academic gain; each student is allowed to pick one class they will study for an entire year. They have a one hour class, a one hour study hall, and the rest of the day is devoted to learning the skill of combat, whether it be solely hand to hand or with any variety of weapons. Never guns though. They’re the easy way out, according to Dean Park.   
  
The Academy starts accepting enrollments at about eighteen months of age, which explains why most children from Two know how to wield a mace before they know how to run. Mark’s been enrolled since he was five years old, and on his first day, he meets Yeri, already into her second year.   
  
Most of the city kids can afford to go to the Academy—as could Mark, thanks to his grandmother’s victor’s money—but the rare poor family sent their children to a regular public school at the far south of the district, so close to the border that it’s barely District Two anymore. The school is a stone’s throw away from the border between Two and Ten, marked only by a small, withered sign claiming  _ ‘District Ten Welcomes You!” _ __   
  
As a small child, Mark had always wanted to go to the regular public school. He felt that taking one nursing class at the Academy was never enough to satisfy his desire for knowledge, so he did what he had to do to get there.   
  
He would attend his one class and study hall, practice combat for a few hours, then he would sneak away to get on a train that would take him to the school. When he arrived for the first time, tiny and shaking, the school’s principal and only teacher, Mr. Kim Minseok, took notice of him immediately. When Mark explained his circumstances, Minseok could only smile, and vowed to always get Mark on the train home before dark.    
  
To this day, Mark’s dad doesn’t know that he would sneak away to get an academic education. He doesn’t know about the nursing internship either. Whenever Mark would arrive home late, his father would give him a clap on the back and just assume that Mark stayed late at the academy, working on his combat skills. How wrong he turned out to be.   
  
As the years went on, Mark stopped having to sneak away. In his few combat hours at the Academy, he worked so hard and learned so quickly that people became afraid just from hearing his name. By the time he was sixteen, he was such a formidable opponent that the Peacekeepers running the Academy just sent him home early, not seeing the point of keeping him holed up in a place where there is nothing left for him to learn.    
  
Mark and Minseok surpass a teacher-student relationship and become friends after five or six years. It’s Minseok who puts Mark in contact with Junmyeon, the Headmaster of the hospital, and both of them have shaped Mark into the person he is today.   
  
The first time Mark had snuck away, he was eleven. The last time he went was the day before the reaping. He doubts he’d ever go there again.    
  
“It was the only school in the city,” Mark protests Yeri’s statement, “Of course we are enrolled there. I’m just saying that we aren’t bloodthirsty killers like Careers are.”   
  
“Neither was Boa,” Yeri counters, flipping her hair over her shoulder.    
  
Mark groans loudly. “Why is she everyone’s example?”   
  
Yeri groans back, flicking him on the forehead. “Because it’s a good example.”   
  
“We’re Careers, Mark,” she continues on, grabbing his elbow and making him look at her. “You especially. With your grandma and Taeyong. You are all very strong.”   
  
“I don’t feel strong,” Mark mutters.    
  
“I don’t know why you’re fighting this so hard. Just embrace it! Being a Career will get you a lot of sponsors!” Yeri exclaims. She rises on her tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, then skips over to join the other tributes in front of the Training Center Staff.   
  
Mark would love to get a lot of sponsors, but something feels wrong about conforming to a name that has nothing but negative connotations. Mark’s not very Career-like at all. He’s mellow, soft, more about helping than hurting. He vaguely feels like a disappointment to his family name as he drags his feet over the group as well.

“In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead,” the trainer says. Mark has to rock back and forth on the balls of his feet to see her name tag, which reads  _ Amber,  _ “Who that is depends how well you pay attention over the next six days, particularly what I’m about to say.”

Amber clasps her hands together. “First, no fighting the tributes. You’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.”

Mark doesn’t like the way that her eyes drift over to him. 

“If you wish to practice hand to hand combat, find one of the Capitol training staff. If you do attempt to engage in combat with a fellow tribute, both of you will be penalized.”

“We’re being sent to our deaths. What the fuck else can you do to us?” one kid to Mark’s left mumbles. Amber hears it anyway.

“Young man,” she calls, “what is your name?”

“Jooheon,” he says.

“Jooheon,” Amber repeats, “do you like having a family that is alive? Because that can change instantly if you pick a fight with a tribute or interrupt me again.”

The girl from his district hides her snicker in a cough, but they both quiet down when Amber glares at them.

“There are four compulsory exercises and the rest will be individual training,” Amber continues on. “My advice is not to ignore the survival skills. Everyone wants to grab a sword but most of you will die of natural causes.”

She holds up her fingers, tapping them as she recounts the information. “Ten percent from infection, twenty percent from dehydration.”

Amber’s smile widens and her voice takes on a strange lilt. “Be careful tributes. Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.”

With that warning, she dismisses them for training. Mark decides to just go in order of the stations, figuring that it doesn’t matter since he will get to all of them eventually. He walks over to the spear throwing station and looks to the side to see the girl from earlier, Doyeon, arrive next to him.

“Are you any good at this?” she asks him, picking up a spear. When Mark shakes his head, she turns to her other side to talk to the other boy that’s there. “Are you?”

The other boy shakes his head. He’s very handsome, with an unfairly small head, but Mark can’t place him from the reaping videos.

“What’s your name?” he asks.

“Jinyoung,” the boy nods. “District Nine.”

“Grain,” Doyeon says, corners of her lips turning down. She pulls her hair into a quick ponytail with a tie she produces from around her wrist. “Well, Mark and Jinyoung, I’m going to show you how it’s done.”

This is only Mark’s second conversation with Doyeon, but she already seems so comfortable with him. He doesn’t know if she’s ever spoken to Jinyoung either, but judging by his uncomfortable pose, this is their first conversation as well. Mark wonders how he always attracts the outgoing, friendly girls.

Doyeon winds her arm back with an insane amount of confidence and Mark can tell immediately that her form is wrong, but he keeps his mouth shut. She throws the spear with much more strength than Mark expected from a person who spends most of their day in laboratories, but her aim is way off. The spear sails straight past the frame of the target dummy, and Doyeon lets her hair down so she can hide her face in embarrassment.

Mark huffs out a laugh, and Doyeon turns on him like a hawk. She picks up another spear and places it in Mark’s hands. “Here then, big shot, since you want to laugh! Show me that Academy training.” 

Doyeon isn’t a quiet speaker, and suddenly, all of the tributes have turned around to look at them. Mark is suddenly overcome with nervousness.

He and Taeyong had already come up with a plan. “It would be idiotic for you to try and act non threatening,” Taeyong had said. “You are from Two, you went to the Academy, you are my brother. People will expect you to be skilled.”

“Right,” Mark says to fill the silence and show that he’s paying attention.

“Only show how lethal you are when you are called on. Do what you are asked and absolutely nothing else,” Taeyong instructs. “They are already terrified of you. If you show them your power, maybe they will be afraid enough to not come after you in the arena.”

_ Maybe they will be afraid enough to not come after you in the arena. _

The words echo in Mark’s head as he raises and drops his hand, playing with the weight of the spear. Once he’s positive he has everyone’s attention, he takes a step back and lets the spear fly.

The impact of the spear hitting the doll was threateningly loud by itself, but Mark threw it with enough strength for the spear to pierce the doll entirely and have the tip peeking out of the other side of the dummy’s chest. It’s not quite a bullseye, a few degrees below the little red dot on the dummy’s chest, but it’s close enough to pierce an organ and to cause a fatality.

Doyeon’s jaw drops open. “You said you weren’t any good at this.”

“I’m not,” Mark replies, folding his hands. “This is the bare minimum.”

“That’s the bare minimum,” Doyeon echoes in disbelief. 

He spends about an hour teaching her the proper way to throw a spear, and she finally gets it somewhat correct. She’s not perfect, but he feels she will be sufficient if she ever needs to throw it.

There’s a big group of about ten tributes watching one of the trainers fire a bow and arrow and Mark drags Doyeon over to watch. They didn’t have bows at the academy, Dean Park deeming them outdated, so Mark figures that training week is a great opportunity to pick up another skill before heading into the arena. A week is all he needs to master it.

Doyeon becomes bored very quickly and leaves him to go learn how to start a fire with Yeri. Normally Mark would be fine with being left alone, but he ends up standing between Doyoung and that murderous kid from Ten, and they’re both staring at him. He nearly falls over trying to volunteer when the trainer asks who wants to try.

It’s not that Mark hates Doyoung or anything, it’s just that they’ve never formally met. Taeyong and Doyoung have been in the Capitol for most of their time together, and if Taeyong ever did visit home, Doyoung never came with him. It’s awkward to say the least, being aware of someone and their role in your life without ever speaking to them. Mark tries to avoid him as much as possible.

There are five bows in that section of the training center, but Mark has one in his hands at all time. He stays there for about eight hours trying to perfect his shot. He doesn’t even break for lunch; despite going to the most prestigious combat academy there is in Panem, there’s so much to learn at the Training Center and Mark wants to challenge himself to absorb one new skill per day. 

He finally breaks at 9:57pm, three minutes before the trainers go home for the day. His fingers ache from gripping the bow for hours, so he walks over to the knife throwing station for a little bit of fun. 

Knife throwing had been Mark’s favorite at the academy. It is the skill he performs with the most accuracy, and he holds the record at the Academy for the longest streak for perfectly aimed targets (which is twenty one months and 646,222 targets). It relaxes him, makes him feel in control of himself, so going there after a hard day of learning is the only way to let himself unwind. 

The knives they give him are sleek, light, the exact same ones they have at the Academy, and for a brief second, Mark thinks it’s grossly unfair. There’s three targets and they try to give him five knives, but he hands two of them back.

“They will slow me down,” he tells the trainer, Luna, who only suppresses a smile.

“Very well,” she says. “I will keep remaining two knives over here on the table.”  

She pats said table and steps out of the room to start the simulation. The chamber closes and Mark takes a deep breath.

The three targets are stationary and they light up to beckon Mark to throw that way. He responds to every little flash of light, nailing one dummy in the stomach, one in the heart, and the last one in the throat. The blades leave his hand at an inhuman velocity and strike the targets with a loud  _ thud.  _ It feels almost...too easy, like there’s some sort of catch.

The exercise takes about five seconds tops, but the chamber doesn’t open. Mark looks up at the trainer to see her smile smugly, and the hair on the back of his neck stands up. He doesn’t even think before he somersaults in the direction of the table with the other knives.

Just in time too, because he probably would have been electrocuted by the other feature of the chamber. A few years back, the Capitol installed these lights in the chamber that can take on the vague form of a human person. The idea is to make it easier for the tributes to mimic combat; “while stationary targets are nice, I am sure there will not be any tributes standing still and waiting to be speared to death,” the president had said as he proudly presented his idea to all of Panem.

The light configuration runs, holds light configuration weapons, and uses them too. If said weapon touches a tribute, they are briefly electrocuted, and Mark would be damned if he ever felt that. 

He does think it’s a little sickening that there is potential for trainees getting hurt during the training week, where they are supposed to be able to learn safely before the savagery really begins, but he’s just one person out of millions. 

Once he gets his fingers around one of the blades on the table, he doesn’t even get to have that second of relief because a second opponent materializes, this one much closer to him. Mark’s Academy training begins to kick in. One of the first lessons he ever learned was to never turn his back on an opponent, so he keeps both of them in front of him at all times. 

Another one of the lessons he learned was to always watch his opponent during a prolonged battle. Mark’s not stupid. He knows that these light configurations are meant to follow his every movement, and because of that, there’s a millisecond lag between his actions and the actions of his opponents. He jukes to the right and swiftly takes a step left, and the first configuration, this one holding a sword, falls for it. It steps in front of the second configuration, lining them up perfectly. Mark doesn’t hesitate to let his knife fly, the one blade ripping through and piercing both opponents, sending them falling onto the floor in translucent cubes.

He looks up at the trainer again and she looks shaken, eyes flitting between Mark and the singular knife left on the table. Her expression makes him smile a little bit. 

“Mark  _ never  _ misses,” he hears Yeri’s voice say, and he turns to look outside the chamber and all the tributes are standing there. There had only been three others when he steps inside the chamber and he panics when he remembers Taeyong’s warning.

He looks at the faces of the tributes and finds stares of awe and fear on all faces but one. The outlier is the tribute from Ten, glaring at Mark yet again, looking at him with the most hateful expression he’s ever seen in his life.

 

+++

 

“Mark, can you come in here for a second?” Taeyong asks from his bedroom door. Yeri turns to give him a peculiar look. He looks as nervous as he was on the day Mark and Yeri arrived, which cannot be good, but Mark gives him the benefit of the doubt.

“Sure,” he replies, standing up from the couch. He bids Yeri goodnight and walks toward his brother. He sits on the bed quietly, folding his hands in his lap and awaiting the conversation. Taeyong closes the door gently, and Mark’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

“Taeyong, are you like...okay?” Mark questions, genuinely concerned. Taeyong has never really been one for fidgeting or other squeamish behaviors.

“I don’t really know how to say this,” Taeyong admits frightfully, looking down at the floor. Mark gestures for his brother to sit down next to him. Taeyong refuses, remaining standing. In fact, he seems to put more space between them, “So I guess I’ll just say it.”

“Go for it,” Mark encourages. 

"I'm going to marry Doyoung."

Mark raises a skeptical eyebrow. "If he gets out, that is."

Taeyong scratches the back of his head. "No, you don’t understand. If I marry him, he will have to be pulled from the Games."

Mark squints at him, not quite understanding. "So we'd go in with twenty three? Sooman wouldn't allow it."

Taeyong smiles. "I am the most loved victor in one hundred years of Hunger Games history. Sooman would allow me anything, young brother."

A dangerous type of heat flashes before Mark’s eyelids. He springs to his feet, getting up and crossing the room. "Let me make sure I heard you correctly. You want to force another unfortunate person to get shipped here overnight, just in time for the interviews, no training time, barely any sponsor opportunity, all for some man?"

Taeyong looks uncomfortable. "He is the love of my life, Mark."

Mark knows. He knows how deeply their love runs, how strong it is. That doesn't stop him from shouting, "And I am your brother!"

His voice seems to ricochet off of the walls, and for a horrifying moment, everything is silent. People come running. Mark Lee never raises his voice.

"Don't you see how pathetic I am? Don't you want to help me, Taeyong?" Mark's voice cracks as he speaks.

His brother's responding smile is thin and watery, totally unlike Taeyong, in all of his godly, shimmering glory.

"You will see one day, Mark. You will see when you are in love."

"No, I won't, because I'll be fucking dead."

Mark slams the door shut behind him.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this whole story is already written but I have a habit of editing and re-editing my fics to death so u will have to bear with me on that....also if the time between updates passes two weeks then u all have permission to yell at me
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> 190211  
> -M


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls read the note at the end!!

The morning following Mark and Taeyong’s conversation, Mark can barely even look at Doyoung. Right before Mark and Yeri had stepped into the elevator, Taeyong had come rushing down, a sheepish expression on his face.

“I don’t know if you talked to him at all yesterday,” he begins, head down, “but please don’t talk about it. I haven’t told him. Or anyone else, for that matter.”

Mark scoffs. “So I was the first one to know? Lovely,” he snarks sarcastically.

Taeyong frowns at him. “Mark.”

Mark waves his hand at his older brother so he will go away. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I won’t be speaking to him today.”

He had thought that that’s what Taeyong had wanted to hear, but he only frowned deeper. “Hey. Don’t be mad at him.”

“How could I not?” Mark burst out, folding his arms over his chest. “You’re m—”

Taeyong coughed loudly, sending a glace Yeri’s way. Mark clamped his mouth shut and pressed the ‘TC’ button on the elevator. “Don’t worry about me, Taeyong. I won’t talk to him, I won’t tell anyone, I’ll be fine.”

Yeri had stared at him the entire elevator ride, willing him to tell her what the fuck is going on. He doesn’t, splitting from her side as soon as they reach the Training Center floor. He waves briefly at Doyeon and Jinyoung before taking refuge in the green room.

It’s the least frequented place in the entire Training Center, mostly because no one thinks learning plant names and toxicity is particularly useful. Neither does Mark, not really, but he knows that no one is going to join him, and none of the other tributes care enough about him to seek him out.

Besides, this is something else not offered at the Academy and Mark could learn something new. He sits on a bench in the corner of the room and makes himself watch the film playing on the huge screen. It’s a professor from the Capitol’s most prestigious university, going through each of the ninety nine Games, pointing out the plants in different landscapes and giving a detailed explanation of its origin as well as the nutritional and medicinal value.

The way Professor Yoon Jisung goes through the material is interesting and captivating, and Mark gets all the way up to the 62nd Games before the door opens.

(The Games come down to a brutal fight between Cha Eunwoo and a girl named Lee Dabin. The re-release of the Games are edited to lead up to the final battle, so Mark knows what’s coming before it even happens. He sees a lot of Cha Eunwoo’s family in clip packages before and after his reaping. He’s astounded to see a pregnant woman who looks eerily familiar, patting her belly and shouting, “Doyeon says _fighting!_ ”

It takes him a hot second to realize that it’s Doyeon’s mother doing the shouting, that Doyeon is Eunwoo’s _daughter_ , conceived before he was reaped for his Games.

Eunwoo doesn’t live, obviously, and Lee Dabin rebrands to Yeonwoo after she wins. It’s unclear whether she took the ‘woo’ to mock or honor her fallen opponent, but she remains tight lipped on it to this day.)

It’s Yeri at the door, and Mark is neither surprised nor pleased by this fact. She shuts the door behind her and makes her way over to him, sitting next to him on the bench. She knocks her knee against his.

“Why are you cooped up all alone in here?” she asks.

Mark sighs, unable to resist keep anything from his best friend. “I need to stay away from Doyoung.”

“And why is that?” Yeri says, voice gentle. It makes Mark remember how she wanted to be a teacher once.

Mark tears his eyes away from the screen to look at her. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

Yeri sticks her manicured pinky out, gesturing for Mark to bring forth his own. Mark allows himself a small smile but hooks his finger with hers, signifying a promise. He leans in close to her ear, gesturing to the cameras and microphones when she gives him a questioning look.

“Taeyong is proposing to Doyoung tonight,” Mark whispers.

Yeri pulls away in shock. “He’s doing _what?”_

Mark leans back against the bench. “I _know,”_ he says back. “It’s so fucking—”

“Romantic!” Yeri exclaims, at the same time Mark says “ridiculous.”

They both look at the other like they’ve lost their minds. “Romantic?” Mark echoes, voice shrill. “That’s not _romantic._ ”

She gives him a sympathetic look. “No offense, Mark, but you don’t know the first thing about romance. All of your romantic endeavors involve your imagination and your right hand.”

“ _Yeri!”_

She holds her hands up in surrender. “This could be good for him. For them. Stop being selfish. You’re just upset that it’s not you.”

Mark’s eyebrows draw in at the implication. “He’s my _brother,_ Yeri.”

Yeri rolls her eyes and flicks him on the forehead. “I know, dumbass. I mean you’re upset that it’s not _you,”_ and the way she says it this time makes it click.

Mark would like to argue that he’s allowed to be upset that Taeyong is violating the rules, but what Yeri says makes...a terrifying amount of sense. Mark does not care for the Hunger Games as an event; he cares even less for the standard rules and regulations. He’d be perfectly fine if he was the one benefiting from Taeyong’s nepotism. He just doesn’t like the fact that his own brother hatched a plan to save someone from the arena and it wasn’t him.

Yeri lets him stew in that realization a little bit before her voice takes on an uncharacteristically soft tone. “Mark, we need to talk about something important,” she says.

Startled by the sound of her voice, Mark turns his head towards her. He wraps his arms around his legs, laying his temple against his knees as he looks at Yeri. “Sure. What’s up?”

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “You know we can’t work together in the arena, right?”

“Yeah. I know,” Mark sighs quietly. He had more or less known this conversation would be coming, but that doesn’t make it any easier to have.

“It would be too painful to feel responsible for your death,” he continues on. Mark knows himself, knows how important Yeri has been to him all of these years. When it comes down to it, he probably would put her life ahead of his own. If something happened—a tribute or mutt attack, or some kind of Capitol-manufactured weather incident—and he failed to protect her, he knows would feel responsible for it.

He gives her a diluted smile after his statement. She returns it with one of her own and distantly, Mark can feel his heart kind of shattering.

“So we won’t see each other in the arena. Which _means,”_ she said, drawing out the vowel sound in the word and tugging on his arm, “that you have to spend time with me. We have four more days left.”

Mark squints at her. “Is this some ploy to get me to socialize?”

“Only you would hate socializing in a time where having friends might save your damn life,” Yeri rolls her eyes playfully, “now come on.”

 

+++

 

“Mark! Over here!”

“Mark, do you have time for an interview?”

“How do you feel about your brother’s engagement?”

Mark places a pillow over his head and tries to shove his head further into the mattress. It’s 7 in the morning.

As soon as the news of Taeyong’s proposal hit mainstream media, the reporters were out searching for Mark, but he had made himself scarce since he arrived in the Capitol. A lot of the tributes, mostly from poorer districts, had taken to walking around and doing some sightseeing in the Capitol. Mark, having grown up in Two, has seen quite enough architectural grandeur in his life. Besides, he is only in the Capitol to train and play in the Hunger Games, not to prance around and try on some kind of ridiculous headpiece being sold in the Capitol Square.

The reporters have noticed this, of course, so now they’re positioned outside of the Tribute Building with their cameras and phone recorders ready. They’re shouting his name from outside, and Mark is sure they have woken up other tributes as well.

He feels guilty. They are here and making a ruckus for him at this ungodly hour, and sleep is precious to tributes. They will probably want to kill him even more because of all of the fucking noise.

All of them have virtually the same questions; did he know, what is his opinion about it, does he know what the engagement means for Doyoung. He doesn’t give any of them an answer, only turns over and tries to ignore them some more. It doesn’t work, and he’s in a bad mood by the time he has to wake up and meet Taeyong for their one-on-one training session.

Taeyong is late to the aforementioned session, walking with a limp and a ridiculous turtleneck that doesn’t even hide the hickeys Mark knows are there. Mark looks up from his phone as soon as Taeyong’s expensive Capitol-brand athletic shoes come into view.

“Rough night?” he asks wryly.

His brother flushes up to his ears and slaps Mark on the shoulder. “Get up. I have one on one training with Yeri in forty five minutes.”

Mark rolls his eyes and stretches his back out before walking over to the spears. He goes station to station like he does a regular day of training, and he puts in a minimal amount of effort into showing Taeyong his skill set. They’re brothers, they went to the same school and know the same routines. If Mark’s arrows are a little lower in the bullseye or he doesn’t parry his training opponent’s attack as quickly as he can, it doesn’t really matter _that_ much. Taeyong knows what he is capable of.

He still seems to be shocked with Mark’s accuracy even if he’s half-assing this entire meeting. “Mark…” he trails off, biting his lip after he watches Mark release the training assistant from a one-handed chokehold, “you do everything well. You are pretty much guaranteed a high score no matter what you show them.”

Mark cracks his knuckles. “What a relief,” he says sarcastically. “Can I go now? I’m tired.”

Taeyong sends a small frown in his direction. “Can you stop treating this like a joke please?”

Mark places his hands on his hips. “It _is_ a joke.”

“Mark,” his elder brother hisses, eyes shifting towards one of the many cameras before landing on the training staff, still struggling to breathe. It’s a warning, Mark realizes. His words are non-Career like at best, seditious at worst, and there are always ears around waiting to report anything that sounds problematic. Mark is grateful that despite his own attitude, Taeyong is still looking out for him.

It would be a little too obvious to change the course of the entire conversation, so Mark clears his throat and tries to sound a little less severe—towards the government at least. “Well what am I supposed to do, Taeyong? Sit around and cry and wallow in my own misery?”

He elects to leave out the part that that’s actually what he does at night after everyone on their floor has fallen asleep, but he gets his point across. Taeyong sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“Of course not Just...be careful.”

“Be careful,” Mark echoes, deadpan.

“I know you went to the best Academy and that you are well trained in everything,” Taeyong begins, voice mocking. His tone is scathing and Mark has to flinch a little, “but so are the other Careers. The other tributes may have a trick or two up their sleeves so just stay alert, okay?”

It’s unfair, really, how Taeyong can follow up a scolding with puppy dog eyes and genuine concern. It makes him feel insanely guilty, like he’s committing the world’s worst crime by daring to make Taeyong even the slightest bit unhappy. There are probably many Capitolites who actually _would_ classify that as the world’s worst crime, and Mark finds himself struck with how powerful Taeyong really is.

He has the damn president of Panem bending to his will. He’s a force to be reckoned with.

“Okay, I'll stay alert,” he says, breathing a long sigh. “ _Now_ can I go?”

 

+++

 

The sixth day is the skill evaluations. There are no other schedules planned, but Mark goes in to train anyway. He doesn’t really _need_ to train anything—he’s Mark Lee—but he wouldn’t be Mark Lee if he didn’t work himself to the bone in the name of perfection, so he wakes up at 6 AM to train by himself before evaluations start.

It’s not particularly eventful for the first few hours. No one but Momo from One comes by to train, but she’s not particularly pleasant to be around and leaves after an hour, so it’s easy for to Mark stay away from her. It’s about noon when he next hears voices, but the ones wafting down the corridor re extremely familiar.

“The reaping is in place, I assure you,” someone says, and it sounds like the Head Gamemaker Jinyoung Park. Mark pauses, taking his earbuds out so he can take a break and eavesdrop.

“I hope so,” the other voice responds, and Mark’s heart nearly falls out of his ass when he realizes that it’s the _President._ Lee Sooman is just walking around the Training Center.

Mark hears footsteps stop outside of the door. Then, “Do you think anyone is training right now?”

Mark shoves his earbuds back in his ears and grabs the nearest weapon—which just so happens to be a bow—to pretend like he was practicing the whole time. He lets an arrow fly as soon as he hears the door open, and it hits the target perfectly.

There’s a pleased hum that comes from behind him, and Mark deserves a trophy for the way he spins around and acts surprised. “Mister President!” he exclaims, letting his mouth take an o-shape before bowing a full ninety degrees. When he rises up, Mark gets a good look at his outfit.

Not only is the president just walking around the Training Center, he's walking around the Training Center in a plaid button up and sensible khakis. Mark is having a difficult time reconciling this image with the powerful, suit-clad one he sees so often on his television.

“Mark Lee,” the president says. “Your archery skills are impressive. Did you learn that at the Academy?”

He shakes his head. “No, sir. I learned it here on the first day of training.”

Lee Sooman folds his arms over his chest. “You learned how to shoot with that kind of accuracy in just one day?”

“Yes, sir.”

Another hum of approval. “These tributes are going to have to keep an eye on you.”

“That’s the goal, sir,” Mark replies, giving the president a firm nod. The leader turns away to walk out of the room, Jinyoung hot on his heels. Trainees start to filter in after the president leaves, and Doyeon, Jinyoung and Yeri sprint over to him with wide eyes.

“No, sir. Yes, sir,” Yeri mocks him as she approaches.

Mark smushes her face away with his hand. “Leave me alone.”

Jinyoung is all wide eyes and open mouth. “You just had a conversation with the president, Mark! What did he say?”

He shrugs, digging the edge of the bow into the tip of his shoe. “He just complimented my bow skills. I think he likes me.”

Doyeon’s eyes narrow at that. “Lucky. I totally could have charmed him.”

Yeri gives her a flat look. “He’s the president, Doyeon. He wouldn’t fall for that.”

“Don’t sound so sure!” Doyeon exclaims. “You know all those stories about old, _old_ men liking young, beautiful women,” she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She becomes offended and whirls around to scold Jinyoung when he snorts at her.

Before she can start to whine, one of the Training Center staff calls everyone to attention. “Everyone sit in your designated spots in the holding room. When your number is called, enter this room and the professionals will evaluate your skills.”

All of the tributes go shuffling into the holding room and Mark takes his seat in the designated District Two sector. Yeri has a terrible devil may care grin on her face. Mark cringes when she sits down next to him and lays her head on his shoulder.

“Why are you being gross?”

“Mark!” she hisses at him, “I’m trying to relay some information to you without looking like we’re gossiping.”

He exhales loudly. “Fine. What is it?”

“I think Doyeon likes you.”

Mark is barely able to cover his mouth before he bursts into laughter. He pats his friend on the head affectionately. “Good one, Yeri.”

“I’m a girl, Mark. I see girl things! And I have become used to the way girls get when they are into you, and Doyeon is _so_ into you,” she insists.

Mark’s eyebrows furrow. “You’re not serious.”

“I am one hundred percent serious,” Yeri counters. She smiles hugely, digging her finger into his side, “Don’t think I didn’t see you two sneak off to the green room together a few days ago.”

“Sneak…?” Mark starts, but his cheeks color when he remembers what Yeri is talking about and how that must have looked. “Nothing happened.”

“So you _did_ sneak away,” Yeri says, nose scrunching in delight. She’s horribly annoying, but Mark finds it harder to be angry with her considering that they will only know each other for only about a day and a half more.

“All I did was mention that I saw her father’s Games, and she said she had never watched them and she wanted to so I took her,” Mark explains.

“Uh huh,” Yeri says like she doesn’t believe him. “Did you ever consider that she would want to be alone while watching the Games? That has to be kind of personal, watching tapes of your dead father who you never even got to meet.”

Mark shrugs. “I did offer to leave, but Doyeon asked me to stay with her.”

“Oh. she’s good,” Yeri comments more to herself than Mark. “Anything else?”

He thinks really hard about it. “She kissed my cheek but that’s all.”

Yeri, knowing how Mark is usually not that keen on skinship, gapes openly. “And you _let_ her?”

“It’s not like I could have stopped her! My reflexes aren’t that fast,” he complains, cheeks heating up at the memory.

“Oh, you _liked_ it. You like her,” Yeri says, picking up on it immediately.

“I don’t like Doyeon,” Mark argues. “And even if I did, it wouldn’t matter because nothing is going to come of it. People start dying in two days, Yeri.”

Yeri holds her hands up in surrender. “Okay. You don’t like her. But how are you so sure she doesn’t like you?”

“How are you so sure she does?” Mark fires back, extremely annoyed by the fact that _this_ is what they are talking about just before the biggest event of either of their lives so far. “You heard her. She’s charming and pretty and she knows it. What makes you think she’s not trying to work me into letting my guard down in the arena or something?”

“You always run away from things,” Yeri sighs, tapping on her fingers as she makes a list. “Women, romance in general, your contact fighting lessons at the Academy—”

“I don’t like how Dean Park makes a show out of getting us to beat each other up, that’s all,” Mark says. The contact fighting lessons were always held on the first of the month. Top ranked students would choose someone to fight with while an instructor watches on and critiques their motion.

It’s more than a little gruesome, considering how most of the Academy kids have at least one Victor parent. Kids from Two are bred to kill, and so many of them can and would do it with their bare hands. Mark doesn’t really like that kind of environment, so after about six months, he just stops going.

If the Peacekeeper staff noticed that their number one (or two, depending on how hard Na Jaemin worked) ranked student always fell sick on the first day of the month, they never said anything about it.

“Oh,” Yeri coos, poking his side, “Mark is soft.”

She’s speaking a little too loudly and some of the tributes look over at them. “Can you please keep your voice down?” he asks, panicked, because the air of intimidation that surrounds his name is the only kind of immunity he’s going to get and he would like to hang onto it as long as possible.

Of course, in that twisted little brain of hers, Yeri finds a way to make fun of this. Before she can open her mouth, her name is called over the intercom. She stands, pointing between her eyes and Mark’s body in an “I’ve got my eye on you” type of gesture. He just waves her off, curling into their little cubicle once the doors close behind her.

Mark and Doyeon are friends, nothing more, nothing less. First things first, Doyeon is a girl, which already takes her off of his potential romantic partner radar. Second, they have only known each other for three days. Third, they’re being sent to their deaths in a matter of days, and it’s impractical for anyone, Doyeon or Yeri or otherwise, to think something could come out of it.

Mark cannot pinpoint exactly how he feels about being some kind of toy for a pretty girl, but it’s not something pleasant. And while Doyeon presents herself as this vapid, flirtatious character--which is a little bit of a stretch considering she’s from Three--she is a person. A flawed person, with weaknesses like everyone else. He’s seen her vulnerabilities in that day in the green house, and he’s not entirely sure she’s capable of pulling off some kind of scheme.

He gets pulled out of his thoughts by his name being called over the intercom. And the most momentous moment in his life, it’s absurdly boring.

He goes in and bows to the evaluators, and he sees Luna, the trainer from before, up on the panel. He smiles inwardly to himself knowing he already had someone on his side.

Taeyong had told him to show his best skill first; he had heard and seen firsthand how quickly the evaluators become bored. Mark heads over to the knife throwing station and nails his five targets. The same goes for the spear and the bow. It’s a regular day at the Academy, a regular day in the Training Center, and Mark is almost angry at how much hype there was for something so mundane. Distantly, he wonders if this is what the experience has been for all tributes from Career districts.

Before he leaves the room, he hears Luna's voice saying "Mark never misses", and he wonders if it's become some kind of catchphrase among everyone around him.

Later that night, around eight o’clock, everyone gathers around the TV to watch the score reveal.

“I know you’re all excited to hear the results, so let’s just jump right in,” Leeteuk says. Everyone on the District Two penthouse floor leans in closer to the TV. Taeyong turns up the volume and an Avox named Renjun comes to the living room to offer everyone a glass of ginger ale. Mark chugs all of his in pure anxiety while the scores from District One are announced.

“District Two, Mark Lee,” Leeteuk says. After a dramatic pause, he continues on, “with a score of eleven.”

The number ‘11’ glows on the screen and circles Mark’s image. The room erupts in cheers, startling the poor slave, and he almost drops the glasses. Yeri shakes Mark’s arm, but she quickly calms down so she can hear her own score.

“Impressive, Mark,” is what Leeteuk says next. “He received a higher individual training score than Taeyong.”

Taeyong rolls his eyes, murmuring to himself. “I scored an eight. It’s not that hard to score higher than me.”

“Kim Yeri, with a score of eight.”

The room cheers again, but Yeri folds her arms and pouts. “Ugh.”

“That’s a good score, Yeri! Sponsors will definitely be looking at you. Why the long face?” Taeyong asks her, nudging her hip gently.

“This is so sexist. I can’t believe I got a score lower than _Mark_ when I’ve trained longer,” she sulks, and Mark bursts into loud laughter. He seems to be the only one in the room that can tell she’s joking.

They bicker playfully for a few minutes, completely ignoring the rest of the tributes’ scores. Around the time District Eight comes on the screen, Mark’s ginger ale from earlier starts to hit him and excuses himself to the bathroom. Everyone else starts to disperse to their own rooms as well, but no one turns the TV off. It continues to roll on even though no one on the District Two floor is listening.

“District Ten, Choi Hansol,” Leeteuk announces. “He makes a score of eleven. He ties with Mark Lee.”

He leans in as if to tell a secret. “See, what the audience may not know is the lesser known rivalry between these two tributes. Mark Lee is the little brother of Lee Taeyong. Choi Hansol is the younger brother of Choi Seungcheol.

“If anyone remembers a few years ago, it was Taeyong who killed Seungcheol in order to be crowned the winner of the 98th annual Hunger Games. Surely Hansol is not too pleased with him.”

Leeteuk gives the camera a sinister smile. “You know how the saying goes, folks. An eye for an eye, a brother for a brother.”

He lays the cue cards face down on the table and rubs his hands together like some kind of villain. “Boy do I _love_ a good rivalry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a half-cliffhanger! I decided to split this monster of a chapter into two parts because it was pushing 9k...I hope no one minds that much
> 
> if u guys wouldn't mind telling me, I'd love to know how you feel about the pacing of this fic!! am I explaining things thoroughly? this can help me tweak future chapters u_u
> 
> thank you for reading (and commenting)!!
> 
> 190221  
> -M


	4. Chapter 4

The last day in the Capitol is the day of the exit interviews. Since that is their only schedule that day and they don’t need to be at the broadcasting station until 6PM, the tributes have the entire day to sleep in. Of course, Mark doesn’t get that. Mark gets a call from Heechul at 9AM, telling him to go up to the salon, something about a last minute makeover.

When he shows up to the venue, platinum blond with eyebrows to match, Yeri yells so loud she startles some pigeons outside.

“Mark?” is all she says and all of the tributes turn to stare at him, immediately beginning to whisper. Mark vaguely realizes that he’s now a victim of Taemin syndrome.

Lee Taemin is arguably the most well known victor there has ever been. If you ask someone from Nudum, Concor, even Libet, a country so geographically and politically isolated that no one even bothers to remember it, if you ask them about Panem’s Hunger Games, they will automatically think of Taemin. He won the 25th Hunger Games, the first ever Quarter Quell, dubbed the kindest person to ever be called a Career. He only killed when he was attacked, and he tried to make it as quick as possible. Mark has always admired him.

That, however, is only a small part of Taemin’s legacy. After his win, he became known as Panem’s resident trendsetter. Anything he did got national attention, from his volunteer work at pig farms to his latest outfit he was spotted wearing. Anything he endorsed sold out in a matter of seconds and the same goes for items that he wore or used in public. It wasn’t just the Capitol that was obsessed with him, but Panem and the entire world.

Recently, Taemin Syndrome has been renamed Taeyong Syndrome, and even though Taemin is still alive and pushing ninety years old, he didn’t seem to mind the spotlight on him dimming a little.

“Look at you! All fancy with your new hair and tight pants,” Yeri comments when Mark is closer to her. She’s on the mark about that one. It hadn’t just been the pants; Heechul had insisted on the snug white ensemble, patterned with black fleur de lys.

When Mark saw it, he’d done a double take. It was constructed beautifully, of course, like anything Heechul makes, but it has the opposite effect of his Tribute Parade look. While that one was outlandish, pushing fashion boundaries for even somewhere as traditionally avant garde as the Capitol, Mark’s interview look is more subtle, understated. He originally feared that Heechul had just become bored with him and wasn’t putting much effort into styling him anymore, but it was just the opposite.

“This will keep them on their toes,” Heechul said while pulling the suit jacket over Mark’s bare shoulders. “They’ll probably expect you to come out in a crop top and daisy dukes after your parade outfit.”

“Won’t they be disappointed if I’m not?” Mark questioned, wincing when his Avox hair stylist, Renjun, pulled on his hair a little too hard.

“I would not be disappointed to see a sexy young man wearing a sexy suit,” Heechul declared, and Mark’s cheeks inflamed at that _s word_ in the context of his own appearance.

”No, Mark, they will not be disappointed,” Heechul continues on, as if he were talking to a child. He takes a step back to look at his handiwork, dragging Renjun with him. The slave gives him a big thumbs up and Mark figures that’s the best he’s going to get.

“Aren’t you nervous?” Mark asks Yeri, taking in how calm she is in her multicolored shirt and dangly earrings.

“Nope!” she says, popping the ‘p’, “I have a persona already.”  

“A persona,” Mark echoes, not fully understanding what she means.

“Mhm. Doyeon and I switched our real life personalities! My persona is the pretty strategist and hers is the ditzy flirt,” she explains. “You, however, have so many different images of yourself that you could show to the public that you can’t decide. That’s why you’re nervous.”

Mark rubs his thumb over his knuckles. “You’re not ditzy,” he murmurs quietly.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Are you just going to ignore what I said?”

“Yep.”

“Come on, Mark!” Yeri complains. She makes imaginary tick boxes in the air as she speaks. “Wholesome boy next door? Check! Handsome doctor in training? Check! Brooding, sullen bad boy? Check! Cold blooded, emotionless killer? Check,” she pauses, giving him a careful once over, “Thick bodied sex symbol? Che—”

Mark cuts her off before she can get carried away with that one. “I’m _not_ a sex symbol.”

“That’s not what the Capitolites think!” she sings, laughing out loud when he blanches. “Just listen to the reactions when you step out,” she says, dragging him into line.

They don’t talk after that. Since the interviews are so fast moving, it’s best to just be quiet and wait for your name to be called. For Mark, he plans on listening diligently to everyone’s interviews.

“There may be something that Leeteuk says that draws an emotional reaction from the tribute,” is what Taeyong tells Mark in his bedroom the previous night. “Emotional attacks are just as valid as physical ones.

“While you can’t kill someone by hurting their feelings, you can certainly say something that knocks them off guard and gives you a moment of opportunity,” he explained.

“Also,” chimed in Doyoung, who had come to Mark’s room to join in on the meeting as well, “be careful of what you say. For these sorts of Games, I think mentioning their deceased family member is fine. However, if you use something distasteful like terminal illness or addiction in one’s family, you look cruel and may lose favor with both sponsors and Capitolites in general.”

“Don’t Capitolites like cruelty?” Mark questioned.

“I am sure some do, but I, once a Capitol man myself, have found that most people prefer an off switch,” Doyoung explains with a gentle smile. “You can be dedicated and determined to win, but you do not have to go out of your way to make someone feel inferior or despondent before they meet their maker.”

“Okay, I understand,” Mark nodded, scribbling ‘cold, not cruel’ on the whiteboard in his head.

Doyoung sends him a warm, genuine smile. “Besides,” he said, laying a hand on top of Mark’s, “you are not a cruel person. I do not  think you will have a problem with not being an asshole.”

Mark doesn’t like this situation at all. This is the first time he’s meeting Doyoung; he’s been near Doyoung on that day of training, has seen Doyoung on TV and heard him in the background of scarce phone calls with Taeyong, but it’s the first time Doyoung has ever looked Mark in the eye and greeted him.

It’s irritating, because he truly does appreciate the words, but Doyoung doesn’t know enough about Mark to judge his character. He is struck by a hot urge to voice this, but Taeyong is still in the room, sitting and looking hopeful, so Mark decides to be slightly less aggressive and just stare at Doyoung’s hand until he removes it.

When the interviews begin, Mark takes note of the stories of the girls from One. While Momo is more egoistic, Sana actually shows some distress when talking about her late sister, Mina. Mark files that away for later.

Yeri’s interview passes quickly, and Mark doesn’t really listen because he wouldn’t dare attack her. And even if he wanted to, he knows everything there is to know about her anyway. Mark doesn’t really process that she’s finished until he hears Leeteuk yell “give it up for Mark Lee!” and the crowd going absolutely ballistic. He takes the slight push from the security guard and makes his legs work.

“Wow!” is what Leeteuk yells as Mark takes the stage. He sees a few women on the side clutch their hearts as they look at him, and the tips of his ears go pink.

“You are so handsome, Mark!” Leeteuk says as he shakes his hand and the crowd quiets down. Mark murmurs back his thanks, and he sees the timer start as soon as his butt hits the chair.

“So,” the nation’s MC begins, “what’s your favorite thing about the Capitol so far?”

Mark takes a genuine moment to pause. He could be intelligent, or flirtatious or—

“The people, definitely,” Mark finds himself saying. He doesn’t know where that one came from, but Leeteuk is smiling, so he goes with it.

“The people? Do you mean the tributes or Capitolites?” Leeteuk asks.

Mark runs his fingers through his hair. “No, I mean you, Leeteuk.”

If he can’t choose one persona, why not try them all?

People are multidimensional beings. No one is _always_ rigid or _always_ joyful; they are a combination of several traits and that’s what makes them human.

The Capitol, generally considered a place full of flamboyant characters, values transparency above all, and Mark thinks there’s nothing quite transparent than being human.

There are even more positives to this than what Mark can process at the moment. Not only will he win points with sponsors for being honest, but he will also stand out from the other tributes, all of whom are taking the traditional route and working some kind of angle. And with all of them committed to the idea of tributes sticking to their persona, none of them will be able to figure Mark out until it’s too late.

Growing up in Two, where people jump at the chance to go to the Hunger Games, children are taught to live and die by their word. Stick to whatever you say, no matter how much fire you come under for saying it. Stick to what you say, even if you don’t mean it. Stick to what you say, even if you are lying. It’s drilled into them since birth.

He can only imagine how much more it is practiced and enforced in non-Career districts. They don’t have the benefit of relying on heritage or place of birth or Hunger Games-level training for sponsors. A persona is all most of them have to set themselves apart. Mark almost feels bad at how much easier he has it.

Mark only has a few moments to process all of that as a slow smile spreads across Leeteuk’s face. “Are you flirting with me, Mark?”

With that one comment, Mark decides how to navigate the rest of his interview.

“Maybe,” he purrs, giving Leeteuk a coy smile. He straightens up, becoming more neutral before continuing on, “I really do like the people here. I wanted to go to the Capitol more, but I was so focused on training so I could show a good image.”

The audience coos collectively but Mark steamrolls on, trying to show them a little piece of himself before his time runs out. “I know it probably looks like I don’t like being around people but I do. I work at a hospital back in Two.”

He’s kind of oversharing, because no one really cares about what he did in Two because he’s probably never going back, but the audience eats it up anyway, nodding as they listen to him present himself for their consumption.

“You said you wanted to show a strong image,” Leeteuk grabs on, “you must feel pressure after seeing how well your brother performed in his Games.”

Mark takes a deep breath and tries to relax, half joyous mood dissipating with the statement. He crosses his legs in a grand gesture, giving Leeteuk a rehearsed laugh. “Pressure is an understatement, Leeteuk.”

Leeteuk leans in close as if to share a secret, while still holding the microphone to his mouth. “Do you plan on having a scandal like him too?”

Mark can see Taeyong bristle in the front row, and he forces himself to laugh like what Leeteuk said to him and did to Taeyong are funny. “No, I don’t plan on any drama.”

“You seem like a very no-drama kind of person. What about girls?”

“What about them?” Mark counters.

“Got any of them at home banging down your door?” Leeteuk asks, and Mark can _hear_ Yeri’s snort come from the opposite side of the stage, loud and completely fucking obnoxious.

“Wait a minute...do you even like them?” Leeteuk questions in Mark’s brief silence, and Mark feels a hot flash of annoyance that _this_ is what Leeteuk wants to talk about.

“Girls are cool,” he says, purposely short and brief.

“What about Yeri? She’s gorgeous isn’t she?”

Sensing that Leeteuk isn’t going to move on until he opens up about this topic at least a little bit, Mark sighs quietly. “Of course Yeri is pretty, but we have been friends since we were little. There’s no romantic interest there.”

“It must be painful to lose her,” Leeteuk says, stretching his lips in a way that halfway resembles a frown.

“I will miss her no matter which one of us wins,” Mark responds firmly.

“You sound certain.”

“I am,” Mark says. He turns to the crowd, opening his arms in a broad gesture, “Everyone! The winner of this year’s Hunger Games will be from District Two. I am sure of it.”

Mark is too busy thinking about which persona that might have been to notice the uproarious applause at his declaration.

“One last thing, Mark,” Leeteuk says, crossing his legs. “I’ve heard that there’s a phrase going around the tributes…Mark never misses? How do you feel about that?”

 _If the opportunity to brag about yourself arises, take it_ Mark hears Taeyong’s voice in his head.

He straightens up immediately. “I like that nickname. I haven’t missed a target in two and a half years, and I hold the record at the Academy in Two.”

Leeteuk slaps his knee lightly. “Look at you! That’s remarkable.”

Mark tips his head in a bow. “Thank you. I work hard.”

“I’m sure you do,” Leeteuk concludes. “Best of luck to you, Mark Lee, and may the odds be ever in your favor.”

Leeteuk grabs Mark’s hand and bids him to stand. He raises Mark’s arm above his head and yells, “Mark never misses!” and then Mark is being escorted from the stage and into Yeri’s arms in the wings.

“You did great!” she whisper yells, but quiets down immediately to watch Doyeon’s interview.

Doyeon is trying her best to flirt with Leeteuk, and he seems to be enjoying it a little too much. He speaks over her a lot, too captivated by her beauty to let her get a word in. Doyeon leaves the stage looking defeated, and Mark is given another reason not to like personas: they don’t always work.

After Doyeon, Mark witnesses a few more failures. Hyunggu from Eight tries to be flirty, but Leeteuk looks genuinely uncomfortable being seriously pursued by a man. Jinyoung tries to work the quiet and mysterious angle, but Leeteuk coerces him into excitement. It’s strange, seeing how abysmal or forgettable the interviews are without Leeteuk to guide them along, but there are two that will not fade from Mark’s memory any time soon.

He’s returning from the restroom when it begins, so he doesn’t catch the name, but the one thing Mark _does_ hear, loud and clear, is “So. You are Doyoung’s replacement.”

Mark immediately begins to pay closer attention.

“Yes, I am,” the boy from Seven confirms with a nod.

“I am deeply sorry,” Leeteuk says mournfully. It strikes Mark as odd; everyone in the Capitol usually sees being reaped as a huge honor.

“It’s okay,” Seven says. “I guess it was finally time for me to be uprooted.”

“How do you feel about your last minute reaping?” is Leeteuk’s next question.

“I mean, it‘s nice getting to meet all of you,” Seven begins, gesturing to the audience, “but it sucks showing up so late. I arrived this morning and started training immediately.”

The audience lets loose pitied murmurs for him, and Seven shakes his hands in front of him, panicked. “No, no, don’t feel bad! I’m okay, really.”

“I understand you are related to a past tribute from Seven, as per the rules,” Leeteuk continues on, cautious.

“Yes, Donghae,” he says, and murmurs start to rise from the crowd at the late victor’s name. “He won then moved to the Capitol and he stayed here until he passed away a few months back.”

That story feels vaguely familiar to Mark, then Seven continues talking to confirm what Mark subconsciously knew. “The funny thing is that I am actually Doyoung’s cousin.”

Leeteuk stares at him blankly. “You’re cousins with the person you are replacing?”

“Yeah,” Seven says. “That’s just how the world works, unfortunately.”

“I think your story is the most tragic of all,” Leeteuk amends. “We’re not quite out of time yet, is there anything else you want to talk about?”

“My competition,” Seven smirks. “They are nothing compared to me.”

The crowd whispers at that, but they fall silent when Seven says, “especially not that Mark Lee.”

Leeteuk doesn’t seem to understand his statement. “Did you see Mark’s evaluation score?”

“He’s not a killer,” Seven says. “Not with that little baby face and soft voice.”

A few of the other tributes give Mark side eyed glances, and Mark is suddenly incensed. This person who doesn’t know Mark, has never even met him, is passing judgment on his character. It’s even more infuriating because Mark _isn’t_ a killer, but Seven can’t know that. The only people who know that are Yeri and Taeyong.

Mark could probably turn into a killer if he sees Seven’s face, so he bids Yeri goodnight and leaves the room before the new tribute walks in. He spends the next few minutes walking around on an upper floor. When he cools down, he steps into an empty room and catches the second half of the second interview he will never forget.

“You got a pretty high score. Eleven. Impressive,” Leeteuk is saying to the kid from Ten.

“Yes I did, thank you for noticing,” Ten says, smiling.

“It matches with Mark Lee’s.”

Mark doesn’t know why he’s such a fucking popular topic of conversation, but it’s starting to get annoying. His interview has come and gone. The interviews shouldn’t be about him anymore.

The tribute’s smile vanishes. “Yeah,” he starts, voice hard, “I noticed.”

“Is there perhaps a friendly rivalry?” Leeteuk suggests hopefully.

The tribute’s voice takes on an even colder edge when he speaks again. “There is nothing friendly about it. I will avenge my brother on his behalf, and Mark will pay the price.”

Mark, extremely confused now, just folds his arms over his chest. The audience murmurs loudly, their interest piqued. If there’s one thing this tribute can do, it’s put on a show.

“Your brother?” Leeteuk is asking. “And who might that be?”

“Seungcheol. Choi Seungcheol,” the kid answers, and Mark feels his blood run cold in his veins.

So that’s why he had spent so much time glaring at Mark, glaring at _Taeyong._ Taeyong had killed his brother and had become celebrated for it.

Mark briefly thinks it unfair that he has to have a target on his back because of something Taeyong did, but it’s consistent with his Capitol experience so far. If he can absorb the love the Capitol harbors for Taeyong, then he should be able to handle the hatred people have for him as well.

The interviews wrap up soon after, and Mark comes downstairs to ride back to the Tribute Center. The air in the car is stale and Mark knows Taeyong wants to say something, likely apologize, but Mark doesn’t even look at him. Taeyong apologizing for doing what he needed to do to survive is just going to make both of them feel like shit, something incredibly unwanted while a party atmosphere looms in the distance.

While the last day in the Capitol is the interviews, It’s also the day of Taeyong and Doyoung’s wedding. It’s strategic; the man, the myth, the legend _Lee Taeyong_ is getting married. He’s the most Capitol-beloved victor there ever was. Such a grand celebration is not only a one in a lifetime opportunity for poorer tributes, but it’s social suicide for any of them not to go. Except for Mark, of course. Because while the Capitol may adore Taeyong, they feel for Mark and his predicament. Yeri, who goes with the other tributes to walk around the Square at night, has heard many Capitolites say that they would not blame him for being disagreeable and standoffish. A general Capitol consensus to pardon him for his absence is a small mercy that Mark will take advantage of.

Additionally, Taeyong came down to the Training Center and looked every single tribute in the eyes as he handed them an invitation. It would be perceived as rude for any of them to turn down their senior, even for something as reasonable as wanting a full night of sleep before the Hunger Games.

While the rest of the tributes are having at least one mandatory glass of champagne, dancing, and socializing with people most of them are never going to meet again, Mark will be in bed, getting nine hours of rest so he’s fully energized and ready to put his all into the Games. It’s diabolical, and one hundred percent Taeyong’s idea.

Mark is not a complete monster, so he attends the actual ceremony. Taeyong is his brother, still undoubtedly his favorite family member despite their distance, and Mark would rather die than miss seeing Taeyong truly happy.

It’s a beautiful wedding, which isn’t really a surprise when it’s been planned and facilitated by Taeyong himself. Taeyong cries while he says his vows, and Doyoung can't resist embracing him if he tried. They have a very romantic dance in low, pink lighting, and it seems like all of Panem is watching when they share their first kiss as a married couple.

Mark is standing by himself, taking in the extravagant decorations. This is what Taeyong chose over him. It's difficult not to be bitter.   
  
Yeri leaves Mark's side after a while, wanting to go dance with Jinyoung and Doyeon. As soon as Taeyong sees that he is alone, he glides over, looking elegant in his white suit. He's not smiling, and it gives Mark a terrible feeling as Taeyong approaches. 

"I'm not talking about the Games with you,” Mark says as soon as his brother reaches his side. “Our only communication from now until I die should be on the little notes that come in sponsor packages. Did you not just marry? Let's talk about that instead."

Taeyong lowers his flute and softens his voice. "Are you really still angry with me?"

"Yes. I am. Because here I am on the eve of my death, celebrating your marriage with the man you chose over me. Your brother, your own flesh and blood."

Taeyong glances over, and Mark follows his gaze to Doyoung on the dance floor, twirling about with his friend Yuta, grinning hugely and looking like the prince he almost is.

"You know why I 'chose' him over you?"

Mark doesn't answer. "Because I know you are capable of winning."

Mark's head snaps up in confusion. "You know what?"

"That you are capable of winning.  I cannot count the amount of times I have seen you throw a knife with precision, and I know about your legacy at the Academy. You are clear and level headed. You are not hopeless Mark.

"Neither is Doyoung, but," Taeyong pauses as the song comes to an end, and Yuta fondly kisses a spluttering Doyoung on the mouth before releasing him, "He's still too Capitol-minded. He thinks like a viewer. Would kill or let himself be killed in the most dramatic, enticing way possible."

Then after a short pause, in the tiniest voice Mark has ever heard from his brother or anyone else, Taeyong says, "I don't want him to die."

Mark's heart feels like it's been stomped on.

"You will fight to win. He would have fought to entertain."

The difference in tenses really solidifies that Mark's really going to do this. He's really going to participate in the one hundredth Hunger Games. Up until now, it had felt like some kind of twisted, hyper imaginative dream, but it’s actually going to happen. He feels sick.

Mark nods his understanding and claps Taeyong on the shoulder. "I'm going to head to bed. Get some sleep before the big day. You know."

Taeyong smiles at his baby brother. "I do. Goodnight, Mark."

Mark returns the grin. "Please give Doyoung my congratulations. And lay off the alcohol, would you? You have to mentor me in the morning, do not forget."

Taeyong squeezes his hand briefly. "I would never."

Mark makes his way out of the hall. On his way to the elevator, he passes the training room and much to his surprise, there’s a person in there. Steeling himself, he sticks his head through the opening and knocks on the door despite it being public property.

"Why are you down here by yourself? It's late,” Mark says, concerned. Not for the tribute, but for Taeyong’s plan.

The boy turns around and Mark is met with rounded cheeks and sunkissed skin. A face that he has not yet grown accustomed to from a week of training—it hits Mark a little too hard that he’s talking to the replacement tribute.

"You have had a week to train. I have been in the Capitol for fourteen hours. I think I am allowed to train by myself at late hours,” the boy says. Mark supposes that makes sense. It’s not like someone who just arrived has much of a reputation to ruin anyway. He watches the tribute unbutton his shirt slightly and take off his jacket, then something clicks in his head.

"Surely you will not stay here all night when we have to get up at 9AM?"

The guy sighs heavily, putting down his ax. “Why are you bothering me about this? I’m just another tribute. Let me train.”

Mark’s shoulders rise, preparing to give out an annoyed tongue lashing, but he stops to let himself consider the circumstances. Yesterday this kid was sitting at home doing whatever people from Seven do, feeling relieved to have survived another year. Today he was jolted out of his sleep in the early hours of the day just to be told that his name had been the one drawn from the reaping the President and District Representative arranged in secret.

Mark had seen the footage this morning on his way to the Training Center. They literally woke him up with lights and a camera in his face and told him he has half an hour to collect himself and get dressed to leave. It’s wildly unfair, even from a Capitol perspective.

Mark doesn’t like being on the receiving end of attitude, especially when he has nothing but pure intentions, but he can’t really blame the kid for being on edge.

He physically starts when he realizes how similar the two of them are. They’re not too different after all; they’ve both been fucked over by both the Capitol and Taeyong. He supposes he gets some heat because of his familial relation. Yes, Taeyong’s decision to let Mark rot in the arena is questionable at best, but to this kid, Mark is still Taeyong adjacent. Even if he is able to recognize that the short end of the stick Mark has received was dealt from his brother, Mark must still be some deranged Career bred from the most fearsome district.

Mark must stand there for a long time, because the tribute relaxes his combat stance and sighs loudly. “You know what? It’s fine."

He lowers his axe. “And uh...sorry for all of that. Out there,” he says, raising the weapon to gesture to a vaguely outside area. “Needed to give them something to talk about, you know? Make myself the villain to your dazzling, godlike hero.”

“At my expense?” Mark bites out, a little annoyed at how people have just tossed him around to further their own personal agendas.

The tribute raises his eyebrows at Mark. “Am I not in this situation because of your brother?”

Mark folds his arms. “Do I look like Taeyong to you?”

The boy opens and closes his mouth but no sound comes out for a second. “No, but—“

“Then don’t hold me accountable for his decisions. It’s not exactly pleasant for me to have to deal with this shit either,” Mark snaps, patience wearing precariously thin.

“Right. Sorry,” Seven says, not looking apologetic at all.

Mark uncrosses his arms and sags, his little outburst sapping the last of his energy. “Good luck tomorrow,” he says.

The tribute gives Mark a sunny smile so practiced he knows it’s fake. “Thanks, big shot.”

Mark thinks about those three words all the way back to his room.

 

+++

 

Most people would find it a little bit odd how soundly Mark sleeps that night. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s accepted his death already, but he wakes up with ten hours of sleep under his belt and is the only one on the team that can stomach a full breakfast.

Renjun is happy to serve Mark another helping of food and gives him a close lipped smile when he thanks him profusely.

A direct contrast to the entirety of their Capitol stay so far, Yeri is in shambles. While there is the possibility she’s hungover, because she fell into Taeyong’s scheme just like everyone else, but Mark’s seen her hungover before. She is never this shaky when she stands, so spaced out when she sits. It’s offputting, but even more offputting is how cheery Mark is on the ride to the terminal.

Irene can’t even bear to look at the two of them before she starts crying. They’ve been done up by their respective stylists, and they really look like tributes now. She pulls them both into a bone-crushing hug then walks away like she’s convinced she will never see either of them again.

Mark’s still in an okay mood while Taeyong escorts Yeri to the hovercraft, but he sobers up immediately when his brother returns with red rimmed eyes. If he was teary saying goodbye to Yeri, there’s not telling how he would react to sending his little brother off to the Hunger Games.

There is a thick silence hanging in the air while they walk down the strip to the hovercraft. A few meters away, Taeyong stops him, placing a protective hand on Mark’s shoulder.

“Don’t step off the podium or they’ll blow you sky high,” Taeyong reminds him. Mark nods, and the two of them inch closer to the landing platform. Mark is having a difficult time meeting Taeyong’s eyes. He knows this is where they say goodbye.

As angry and bitter as Mark is, he cannot bring himself to push Taeyong away when the elder sobs and winds his arms around his neck. He’s shaking all over, and Mark wordlessly returns the embrace. Taeyong is wailing loudly, and it’s attracting the attention of the Peacekeepers standing watch.

“I-I’m so sorry Mark,” Taeyong sobs. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you.”

Mark doesn’t really mind comforting Taeyong, despite how ridiculous it is. He thinks about how Taeyong was in this position two years ago, but he didn’t have family around to soothe him. So he rubs circles onto Taeyong’s back, tell him that everything will be okay.

Suddenly, Taeyong pulls back, eyes steely. “Let me take your place.”

“What?”

“I said let me take your place, Mark,” Taeyong repeats. “They won’t be able to get me out once I’m in there.”

“God, Taeyong, are you high?” Mark asks in disbelief. “They’ll kill us both! They’ll kill our parents. They’ll kill Doyoung.”

Taeyong doesn’t even flinch at the mention of their parents, but frowns when he hears his husband’s name. Taeyong deflates, twisting his ring around on his finger. “You’re right. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Mark smiles gently and pats Taeyong on the head. “It’s okay. You were thinking that you wanted to save me. But you have played your Games, and now it’s time that I play mine.”

Mark gives Taeyong one last squeeze, then boards the hovercraft.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the Games start next chapter I promise
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> 190302  
> -M


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sixty second countdown starts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since this is an au about a game where people fight to the death, there's going to be a lot of mention of violence and death. I tried to keep the gore to a minimum, but if anyone needs me to summarize the violence in the end note, please let me know in the comments and I will do that from now on.
> 
> take care of yourselves loves, and let the hunger games begin

Mark had wondered why it was so dark when he was coming up through the tubes, and when the light breaks through the darkness to meet his eyes, he finds out why.

The podiums were in fucking trees.

The platform pushes up, and Mark catches sight of the other tributes, looking just as confused as he feels. He steels himself, hardening his face. He resolved to show no emotion, do his best, and to die when he dies. 

The sixty second countdown starts.

The twenty four trees create a large circle on the otherwise flat ground. The area is about as wide as a soccer field, with trees springing up around the edges. The Cornucopia, in the center of all the tree podiums, is about twenty meters down. Mark knows there were no tree climbing lessons in training, and he doesn’t know how to climb trees. Learning how to mid-bloodbath doesn’t seem wise, so he resolves to wait until all of the tributes had dispersed to come down.

Around the thirty second mark, a tribute Mark cannot put a name to sneezes hard enough to lose his balance. He wobbles a bit before ultimately falling to the ground. 

“Taeseon!” A girl cries, likely the female tribute from that district. Without a moment’s hesitation, she jumps down to the ground as well. 

Mark knows what’s coming, but it doesn’t make it any easier when the clear tubes rise up from the ground surrounding the trees. They seem to be soundproof; the other twenty two tributes can see her mouth open, screaming in terror, but only the sound of the countdown is heard.

The explosions, though contained in the tubes, rattle the entire arena. The transparent, hexagonal panels that make up the force field shake, and for a brief moment, Mark wonders if they will collapse. 

The blood and limbs of the two now dead tributes cover the inner surface of the tubes, and it makes for a sight so unappealing that Mark has trouble tearing his eyes away. As soon as they serve their purpose, the tubes retreat back into the ground, the manicured hand of the girl sliding obscenely off of the glass.

Most of the tributes are so in shock that they don’t even register the sounding of the gong. 

Mark does, though, so he shifts to sit on the platform and watch it all unfold beneath him. It’s a good opportunity to observe his opponents while they are unaware of his presence. He can learn their combat styles; he can see whether they fight to the death, to severely injure, or to injure just enough to get away; he can watch the formation of any alliances; and most importantly, he doesn’t really have to get his hands dirty quite yet.

He’s still terrified, but he forces himself into the mindset of a regular Panem citizen—a non-Career, someone who fears these Games and everything they stand for—but still a spectator. Because even if someone hates the Capitol, the president, the Hunger Games, no one can stop themselves from watching the bloodbath. 

Everyone wants to root for the tributes from their district. It’s hard not to; whenever Hunger Games time rolls around, hope is all anybody has.

Mark watches Lisa slide down the tree with ease. In fact, she’s the only one that does it with so little struggle; even the other Careers have a hard time coming down. Her twig-like limbs carry her over to the Cornucopia, where she has first pick of all the weapons and supplies. She grabs a trident, as expected, but also a spear and two bookbags. Mark assumes one is for Seungyoon, her district-mate, who is only halfway down his tree by the time she’s stocked up.

Lisa carries the supplies over to where Sana’s tree is, and Mark watches, unbelievably bored, as the Career pack forms. She slots one bag over Seungyoon’s shoulders and hands Momo a spear, leaving Sana to run to the Cornucopia to retrieve something for herself. Momo covers her, and the tributes that are unoccupied by combat give them a wide berth as they charge by. 

A brief glance to the other side of the Cornucopia brings Doyeon into Mark’s field of vision, using her long, long legs to kick a tribute Mark cannot name in the chin. She wrenches the bag from him and disappears around the Cornucopia, but Mark doesn’t see her emerge from the other side.  

He sees Yeri run past the treeline with a small bookbag and the tribute from Ten right on her heels. Something hot sparks in him, the need to get down, chase them and protect her, but Mark swallows it down like a ton of lead. He and Yeri turned over a new leaf this morning. They are strangers, they are randomly chosen tributes, they have no obligations to each other.

Way across the field, there’s another small clique forming, although much more unusual; there’s the girl from Five, the boy from Six, the girl from Six, and Jinyoung. The latter seems to be reluctant to join them, especially when they start scanning the ground, clearly looking for someone. After a short moment, the girl from Five points up in the air, at Mark, and the four of them start walking over to Mark’s tree.

Belatedly, Mark realizes that staying atop his podium may not have been the greatest idea with longevity in mind. There is too much opportunity for them to attack and barely opportunity for him to defend, and once he realizes this, his anxiety spikes dangerously. There’s no climbing down now. They could spear him right through his ass without a second thought. It’s unlikely, because at a second glance, none of them are armed with anything more threatening than a kitchen knife, but Mark would rather be safe than sorry.

It seems the three of them—Jinyoung not included, because he is standing a little ways away from the rest of the group and looking disinterested—have recognized the impending failure that awaits them if they tried a long distance kill. Mark is thinking about ways he could kill them from this altitude when he hears a count of three and then he is jostled from his seat.

The three tributes have taken to shaking at his tree at the base, trying to dislodge him. The podium is quite narrow and Mark’s butt is not, and it becomes a problem for him immediately. He props his feet against the trunk, trying to remain as still as possible.

One shoulder ram by the boy from Six has Mark’s backside slipping off of the podium almost entirely. Mark grits his teeth, preparing to just jump down and take all of them on with just his hands, but before he can make that horribly ill fated decision, there’s a loud whistle a few meters away from the group. 

“Wanna help?” The girl from Six says after turning to the source of the noise, the male tribute from Seven. 

He shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, and Mark becomes acutely aware of how the boy is completely on his own. He has no bag, no weapon, just his wit and jealousy-inducing legs.

“I watched your interview, Dayoung,” Seven says, checking his fingernails absentmindedly, “I saw that you like the chase, right?”

The girl turns to him, eyes darkening. “Yeah. So what?”

Seven gestures up to Mark, frozen up on the podium. “He’s so boring. He can’t give you the chase you crave.”

Mark is momentarily agitated by more degradation from this loud mouthed tribute, but he decides to let it pass if it saves his life. Seven seems to sense his annoyance, even with their distance, and sends him a wink right after.

“So we let him go?” the girl from Five suggests, pointing her knife upward in Mark’s direction.     

Seven dramatically rolls his neck around in a circle. “Chase me instead.”

The girl from Six, Dayoung, smiles darkly. “Yeah? And if I catch you?” 

Mark is taken aback by how Career-like this girl is. These words, this brazen conviction sounds like talk he’s heard in the Academy cafeteria. It unnerves him a little bit, knowing that a bootleg Career has it out for him. 

Seven just laughs, unbelievably haughty. “You won’t,” with such confidence that Mark envies him.

The boy from Six and the girl from Five watch the exchange with wide eyes, not anticipating this change in itinerary. Judging by the shifty pupils of those two, Mark gathers that there had certainly been a plan, which likely involved the four of them killing him and then going on from there. Seven has thrown a wrench into their plan, and the girl from Six, clearly the ringleader, seems all too eager to go along with the changes as long as she gets what she really wants; an exhilarating chase, sponsored by an adrenaline rush.

“Don’t you want a headstart?” Dayoung says, reading herself to run.

“Nope,” Seven responds, “I’ll let you get close before I start running.”

Dayoung makes a sound of dissatisfaction before she takes off, running toward where Seven is leaning against the tree. He lets her get within a meter before he starts running as well, carrying her past the treeline. The girl from Five and boy from Six only exchange an exasperated look, following quickly so they don’t lose their ally in the densely populated forest. Jinyoung, who Mark had forgotten was even there, gives him a long, searching look before sprinting off after his pack.

Mark blows out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding. Crisis averted.

With everyone but Mark and the corpses gone from the Cornucopia, the cannons begin to sound. Mark counts them, four of them, while he carefully maneuvers himself down the tree’s trunk. The four bodies are laid out on the ground in varying degrees of carnage, ranging from a single stab wound in the gut to someone’s heart completely ripped out and placed next to them on the grass. That kind of murder just screams  _ Career _ , and Mark skirts around the blood and avoids looking at it for too long.

The inside of the Cornucopia is pretty bare, but it’s not that big of a deal. Truthfully, Mark wasn’t too worried about getting anything from the Cornucopia. He knows his fans and Taeyong’s fans will keep him fed and armed if he looks pitiful enough, and if there’s anything Mark has perfected over the years, it’s looking pitiful.

Mark walks in further to make sure there’s nothing he can use before a glint of sunlight catches his eye. He follows it over to a little silver box, and he recoils at what the top of it says.

On the box, written in what is undoubtedly someone’s blood, is  _ For: Mark,  _ and a little ways down,  _ From: Momo. _

Being from Two, Mark is an honorary Career. Even though he hadn’t joined with the rest of them to create the standard power alliance, they likely feel some kind of allegiance to him due to his status. He’s grateful for it, especially when he opens the box and finds a set of ten throwing knives, identical to the ones at the Academy and in the Training Center.

As Mark carefully lifts the belt out of the box and fastens it around himself, he thinks about the tribute’s blood on the box. Everything Mark has seen about Momo so far indicates efficiency and not wasting time. This leads Mark to believe that whichever unfortunate tribute got in her way was reaching for these knives before Momo put an end to them.

Considering that literally none of the other tributes practiced throwing knives, the tribute was looking to keep these away from Mark rather than use them for themselves. Mark is nonplussed by the idea of someone trying to disadvantage him, but it’s really not that farfetched in the grand scheme of his life or in the Hunger Games as a whole. 

He uses the sleeve of his jacket to wipe away the bloody message and any evidence of a connection between him and the rest of the Careers before backtracking out to the field. The bodies had been collected while he was in there, and nothing but blood remains on the grass.

Mark walks around, looking for a place to go that won’t lead him into death, and he trips on a tree root on the ground. A root strangely misplaced, considering that he is standing in a field of grass with the nearest tree forty meters away. He drops to his knees and pulls at it, and the ground opens up to an underground tunnel. Mark ignores the comparisons that he knows are going to be made and drops into the hole feet first.

It doesn’t occur to him that someone could already be in there until it’s too late. When the tunnel opens up to a large room, Mark’s eyes fall on Doyeon and her district-mate Seongwoo, leaning against the wall and waiting to see who is coming. Mark feels a sense of relief when he sees his friend, but that evaporates when Seongwoo scowls at him and shifts his footing.

Seongwoo charges, and Mark barely even moves as he expertly retrieves a knife from his belt and throws it at the attacker. It lands in the middle of Seongwoo’s throat, which doesn’t necessarily kill him, but the shock of having a foreign object enter his body makes it a whole lot worse for the other man. Seongwoo chokes, falling forward like a cartoon character, and he lands on his front. The impact of that sends the knife through his throat and neck, and Mark can see that Seongwoo is going to die from blood loss in a few seconds. Mark pulls his knife free from the back of Seongwoo’s neck, and the cannon finally blows.

When it’s just the two of them left, Doyeon props a hand on her hip and tilts her head forward so her hair falls over her face. She still looks pretty, but the bashful affect Mark can tell she’s going for is kind of vitiated by the spiked mace dangling from one of her tight fists and a spear standing in the other.

“Hey,” Doyeon purrs at him, and Mark’s spine goes rigid, “you’re not going to kill me, are you Mark?”

It strikes Mark as odd that someone in their position would ask such a question. They are playing the Hunger Games; it would be foolish of her to assume that Mark would spare her life when there’s nothing between them but a fast track friendship formed in training.

On the other hand, they have been in close proximity for a week. He has seen her at her most vulnerable, which has to count for something. He briefly considers turning around and leaving the hole, not being the one to kill her, but one last flutter of her eyelashes sends him into another wave of thought.

Mark has been best friends with Kim Yeri for fourteen years. He knows what this particular brand of flirting sounds like, what it looks like; Doyeon is trying to change his mind on something. She’s trying rather hard by the looks of it, and it’s completely unnecessary. Mark is about to just wipe off his knife and leave, but Doyeon makes a strangled, frustrated sound that roots him to the ground.

“God, are you fucking gay or something?” Doyeon grits out, and Mark realizes that he hasn’t answered her question from before.

Mark blinks at her. “What?”

“I have been flirting with you  _ all week.  _ You haven’t once shown that you reciprocated. What gives?” she asks, immensely frustrated.

“You sound displeased,” he comments, brain still working to try and figure out her angle. 

“Well what am I supposed to be?” Doyeon runs a hand through her hair, “I’ve been trying to break you down and become some kind of kryptonite for you but you haven’t budged.”

The pieces of the puzzle are finally starting to come together. “So let me get this straight,” Mark starts, disbelieving, “you’ve just been trying to break my walls down the entire time? You were never really interested in me?”

“What? God, no. I have standards,” Doyeon bites out, shifting the spear around in her hand. Mark’s eyes follow the motion and he acutely becomes aware of how he is greatly under armed.

He wants to feel hurt by Doyeon’s comment and its implication that he is wholly undesirable, but Mark feels nothing but concern. Not for himself, but for Yeri.

Academy kids don’t have many combative weaknesses. However, while most of them are skilled in fighting, they are relatively clueless about human behavior and emotional patterns. She had been so sure of Doyeon’s feelings for him, and it’s all fabricated. 

Yeri’s one weakness, which has just been exposed to no one but Mark, is that she’s a hopeless romantic. She’d probably fall for that kid from Ten if he wooed her enough. 

This instance kind of proves to himself that his instincts are never wrong, because he immediately shut Yeri down when she proposed her fairy tale plot to him. Growing up with such a shitty father really taught Mark how to see someone’s true colors almost instantly. If there’s anything he can thank his father for, it’s hardening him.

“If you want to kill me then kill me,” Mark says.

“I’ve never heard a better idea,” Doyeon grins, tucking her hair behind her ear, “a question first though, if I may.”

Mark widens his stance. “What?”

“Why did you teach me how to throw a spear, Mark? How stupid can someone possibly be?”

Mark doesn’t get a chance to answer before Doyeon is throwing her spear at him. He is easily able to avoid it thanks to her poor aim and stupid warning, and it sticks in the wall behind him.

Doyeon lunges at him, mace raised, and Mark’s body goes into autopilot. He reaches up and wraps his hands around the shaft of the spear and pulls himself up off the ground. He kicks forward and the bottoms of his heavy boots catch Doyeon in the face, sending her staggering backward against the wall. 

Mark can see that Doyeon’s nose is broken before she knows it herself. She pulls her hand away from her face and sees at the blood on her fingers, her features twisting into a grimace. Mark, nurse instincts kicking in, takes a few steps closer to examine it, but leaps back immediately when Doyeon swings her mace at his head in warning.

The heavy part misses him, but one of the spikes drags over his forehead and cuts him open. Mark backs up so quickly that he smacks his head against the shaft of the spear. Doyeon, done trying to rearrange her nose, lunges at Mark once more, and everything that happens is a blur of motion.

Mark reaches up for the spear again, but instead of kicking, he pulls and dislodges it from the wall. He points it downwards, using the unpointed side, the side not even meant for killing, to spear Doyeon through the stomach and pin her to the ground.

She convulses violently after the contact, and for a moment, Mark thinks the damn thing is going to break. Doyeon turns into a makeshift mop as Mark drags her across the floor, using the spear to navigate, to an opening on the other side of the room. 

He drags Seongwoo over to the same opening, and then he notices that Doyeon is coughing up blood, clearly uncomfortable. He would put her out of her misery, but that would make him look excessive, so he decides to let her bleed out instead.

The claw comes to take Seongwoo first, and once he’s gone, Mark is left alone with his handiwork. He feels a little bit sick watching Doyeon’s chest rise and fall in an irregular pattern as she dies, but he curses himself for feeling sympathy for someone who tried to play mind games with him, her failure irrelevant.

Still, Mark isn’t evil, so he removes the spear from her abdomen and closes her eyes before the claw comes to get her as well.

The silence in the room stifling, Mark looks around to see what they left behind. Both Doyeon and Seongwoo had a bookbag, so Mark locates both and dumps their contents on the floor, ready to pick through and take what he wants. 

He ends up with a nice haul; a serrated knife, a blue fuzzy blanket , a bag of jerky, and a bottle of self-replenishing water. That one seems a little too easy, but Mark is grateful that he doesn’t have to search for water; that had been his number one worry in the arena. 

There’s also a rather large vial labeled  _ Verum Seri,  _ truth serum. It comes with instructions that Mark will read later, if he gets around to using it. He takes Seongwoo’s jacket too, which the other had thrown haphazardly on the floor before Mark had even arrived. He has to pass the used spear to get to it, and Mark stares at the weapon in deep thought. 

To the average person, Capitol or district, Mark is pitifully under armed and taking the spear with him would be a good option. But for Mark personally, ten throwing knives and a serrated knife is enough for him to survive on. The spear, while good for long distance kills, is large and will likely slow him down when he inevitably travels on foot. He ignores the bloodied spear and brings the jacket back over to his bag, hoping that the next person to make it into this room will make good use of the weapon.

As he begins to fold and roll things to fit in his bookbag, he hears faint dinging from a distance. He thinks nothing of it until he realizes it’s becoming louder with each passing second. Mark is on his feet in an instant, knife unsheathed and sitting in his clenched fist.

He relaxes when he sees the little parachute drift inside from that opening Doyeon and Seongwoo were taken from. Once it lands next to him, Mark unfolds the little canister quietly. There’s a note on top of it, and Mark, without his glasses, holds the little slip of paper close to his face so he can read it. 

_ For the cut on your head. Fighting, TY,  _ it reads. Mark gives a small smile, putting the note in an inner compartment of the bag. He makes a fist and holds it over his heart, a sign of thanks to his brother and to whatever sponsor sent it to him.

There’s a little jar of white ointment, and Mark sweeps the cold solution onto two of his fingers and begins applying it to the cut that Doyeon left on his forehead. It fizzes a little bit, but Mark just assumes it’s working and pushes his hair out of the way. 

Because the cut wasn’t really that big, there’s a lot of ointment left in the container once Mark finishes healing himself. He tucks the remainder of the medicine away in his bag for future purposes.

He pushes his bookbag into a corner of the room, away from immediate sight, and prepares to take a nap. Ultimately, he is unsuccessful; Seongwoo and Doyeon are long gone, but Mark has trouble sleeping when there’s a trail of drying blood on the floor of the bunker. 

  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha this is six weeks late....sorry about the wait I just didn't like what I wrote and then I felt zero motivation to fix it for literally a month straight. I hope this meets all of your standards <3
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> 190413  
> -M

**Author's Note:**

> hello everyone!! today marks a year since I have began planning out this fic and I figured today would be a good day to start posting it. it's completely finished and I have never loved a fic like I love this one and I hope that someone else out there can enjoy it u_u please be nice to me about it
> 
> in this universe I bent the rules a little bit so the ages are 12-20 and there is no gender restriction on the tributes but it shouldn't have too much impact on the story...also don't expect smut or too much suggestive talk this fic is more angsty than sexy
> 
> I'm nervous as hell putting this up so I'm just gonna do it and see how this goes
> 
> thank you for reading!!
> 
> 190131  
> -M


End file.
